Did He Know?

This thought keeps circling back to me, no matter how much I try to let it pass:
“Don’t plan too far ahead. I might not be here when the year ends.”

It’s a quiet sentence that wasn’t spoken, yet it feels like the truth living underneath Vic’s last firm “no” back in March — the one that confused me, frustrated me, made me question his reasons. I didn’t understand it then.
Now I can’t stop wondering if he did.

People who are ill — deeply, seriously ill — often know more than they say. They don’t always have the words to explain it, and sometimes they don’t want to. They just feel it in their bones, in the way their breath shortens, in the way their body betrays them quietly, little by little.

Maybe Vic felt time narrowing long before anyone else did.
Maybe he sensed that the future I was trying to plan — the trip, the holiday, the new year — wasn’t one he would enter with us.
Maybe saying “no” was his way of preparing me without saying the words out loud.

It breaks something inside me to think he might have been carrying that truth alone.
That he held his fear quietly.
That he protected us in the only way he could at the time — by not letting us plan a life that wouldn’t include him.

Back then, I thought he was being stubborn.
I thought he was being difficult.
I thought he was just trying to control things.
But now… with everything I know, with everything I’ve seen…
I can’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t protecting himself —
He was protecting us.

Protecting me from booking tickets for a trip he knew would never happen the way I imagined.
Protecting Kenzo from memories that would be tied to both travel and loss.
Protecting all of us from planning a future he was already quietly stepping away from.

This realisation hurts in a deeper way than I expected.
It’s the kind of hurt that comes from love —
from seeing the truth too late,
from understanding too late,
from wishing I could go back and tell him I hear him now,
even if he never said it out loud.

Maybe Vic knew.
Maybe that “no” was his last way of holding on — not to life, but to us.

And now, every time I think about December… every time I feel that heaviness in my chest… I find myself whispering into the quiet,
“If you knew… I wish you didn’t have to carry that alone.”

But love is complicated.
Love is quiet.
Love is often unspoken.

And maybe this — this lingering thought, this invisible thread pulling me back to March —
is his final way of saying he was trying to look after us, even as he was fading away.

Comments

Post a Comment

Thank you for being here.
If something you read reminded you of your own story, or if you just want to say hello — I’d love to hear from you.

Popular posts from this blog

The Gate You Once Walked Through

Image
Dear Vic, “Sau cơn mưa, trời lại sáng” There’s a Vietnamese saying - after the rain, the sky clears. Yesterday’s hailstorm rattled us all. And though the skies turned blue again today, there’s no peace in it. No sense of calm. Just silence. I’m sitting at my desk, looking out at the red archway that leads into the school grounds. And in my mind, I see you - walking through that gate, dropping something off for Kenzo. Just like you used to. Back then, I didn’t realise how much those small gestures meant - the quiet ways you showed up when I asked. I wish I had held onto them more tightly. Now, I can only see you in my mind’s eye… that familiar walk, that brief presence - just a memory now, echoing in the quiet. I wish you could see where Kenzo will one day walk as a high school student - the community he’ll grow up in, the paths he’ll choose. I hope he gets into this school, or somewhere even better. I wish we could’ve shared that pride together - parents side by side, watching hi...
Read more

The Things He Didn’t Say

Image
Why is it that the more I go through Vic’s old things, the deeper the grief cuts? The tighter my chest feels. The more I long to see him - to turn back time and tell him that I still care. That I cared deeply. Still do. Yesterday I found one of his old journal entries, probably from around 2022, back when he was living in that rental in Morley. His words were short - scribbled fragments - but they held so much. So much restraint. So much unspoken emotion. The tension was there, written between the lines. The push and pull between wanting to let go and needing to hold on. Some of the notes stopped me in my tracks: “NT fixated on clothes/swap/wash/counts.” “Less annoyed/unsettled. Be stoic.” “NT joined us for swimming lessons Sat.” “Surprised - NT tell me about pending redundancy, then suspicious, heightened awareness of ulterior motive.” “Kenzo went into ED for vomiting x3.” “Pleased that NT included me in birthday invite as agreed.” “Overjoyed - Kenzo saying he wants to stay wit...
Read more

He Kept Them All

Image
When we visited Vic’s home a few weeks ago, I didn’t expect to find much more than the practical things we’d come for. But then his sister handed me a small bundle of laminated photos — snapshots of us, taken long ago. Some were from 2001. Others from seasons of our youth I barely remembered… but he had. He kept them. All of them. Through the years we were together. Through the years we were apart. Even when we no longer spoke often. Even when life had shifted so far from where it once was. And I’ve been wondering why. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was memory. Maybe it was his way of holding on to a part of his life that still mattered, even when everything around him had changed. People don’t keep things for no reason. Not like that. Not tucked away for decades. Those photos weren’t just old images — they were pieces of our story. Pieces of his story. And perhaps, a quiet way of saying, “This part of my life still meant something.” It made me realise that even if we didn’t end the way I...
Read more