In the face of your own death, embrace hope or resign yourself to reality? - Part 1 - [SPA - ENG]

Septiembre 01 de 2020. 3:32 p.m. Exhala el último aliento mi primo Gregori León. Más que un primo, era mi hermano mayor. De niño era mi héroe, mi refugio, mi contacto al mundo real.

Lo admiraba, reía con sus ocurrencias, aprendía de su malicia. ¿Era perfecto? No, estaba lejos de serlo. Pero era un luchador. Y fue un luchador hasta el último día de su vida. Siempre optimista, siempre con una risa y un chiste. El humor era su escape, incluso, pienso que abusaba de ello en ocasiones. Pero así era él y lo aceptaba.

Enfrentó con actitudes diversas una diabetes que marcó su existencia desde muy niño. A veces lo escuchaba quejarse, otras renegar, en ocasiones resiliente, en otras, sencillamente, no decía nada. Pero lo extraño era que a pesar de sus eventuales y comprensibles quejas, no se rendía. Si sucumbía por 30 minutos a una hipoglucemia, al rato se levantaba e iba a trabajar, o lo veíamos buscando qué hacer. Jamás se rendía ante la enfermedad y si lo hacía, lo hacía a regañadientes.

Mantuvo su lucha particular contra esa enfermedad y no dejó que lo amilanara por nada. Hacía cosas que para nosotros era un suicidio, una provocación audaz a la muerte. En muchos momentos le tildamos de irresponsable, lo que no comprendíamos era que esa supuesta negligencia no era más que su lucha interna a la vez que visible contra lo significaba la diabetes para él: una oscuridad, algo que estaba para robarle la vida y él nunca se la dejó quitar. Mi primo practicaba lo que yo tanto predico: vivir intensamente. Él sí lo hacía, yo no.

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LA ENFERMEDAD DOBLEGÓ SU CUERPO

Dos meses antes de morir empieza a sentir malestares. Dejó de comer pero también de expulsar naturalmente lo poco que ingeria. Estuvo visitando hospitales tratando de estabilizar su metabolismo, pero en vano. Exámenes iban y venían. Medicamentos que parecían no cumplir su función. El con la valentía y la terquedad que lo caracterizaba seguía resistiendo, pero esta vez en silencio.

Las quejas de antes enmudecieron. Por alguna razón su actitud cambia. En ese entonces solo lo admiraba hoy analizo y concluyo, tal vez equivocadamente que el sabía que el día se acercaba, que había perdido definitivamente contra la diabetes. Por eso su resignación, ese silencio impregnado de valor y firmeza.

Era como si le dijera a la enfermedad:

"Nunca me derrotaste, jamás sucumbí ante tu afán de inutilizarme y encerrarme. Esta vez puede que lo logres, que me encierres y me inutilices, pero al menos no permitiré que hagas sucumbir ni derrotes a mis familiares y amigos".

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En la playa con mi primo Gregori. En ese viaje nos fuimos en bus. Pero varias veces se fue en bicicleta junto a sus amigos, desde su casa hasta las playas de Ocumare de la Costa recorriendo una distancia de 60 km.

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Y así fue. Durante su batalla contra los arrecíos de la enfermedad mantuvo la fe. Decidió abrazar la esperanza, optó por ser valiente, por luchar con optimismo y humor. Especialmente los últimos días. Y es que sospecho que mientras notaba su final, más positivo era y más esperanza elegía trasmitir.

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(Continuará...)

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My cousin Gregori León breathes his last breath. More than a cousin, he was my older brother. As a child, he was my hero, my refuge, my contact with the real world.

I admired him, laughed at his witticisms, learned from his mischief. Was he perfect? No, he was far from perfect. But he was a fighter. And he was a fighter until the last day of his life. Always optimistic, always with a laugh and a joke. Humor was his escape, even, I think he abused it at times. But that was the way he was and he accepted it.

He faced with different attitudes a diabetes that marked his existence since he was a child. Sometimes I would hear him complain, sometimes he would complain, sometimes he would complain, sometimes he would be resilient, sometimes he would simply say nothing. But the strange thing was that despite his eventual and understandable complaints, he would not give up. If he succumbed to hypoglycemia for 30 minutes, he would get up and go to work, or we would see him looking for something to do. He never gave in to the disease and if he did, he did it reluctantly.

He kept up his own particular fight against the disease and didn't let it deter him for anything. He did things that for us were suicide, a daring provocation to death. At many times we called him irresponsible, what we did not understand was that this supposed negligence was nothing more than his internal and visible struggle against what diabetes meant to him: a darkness, something that was there to steal his life and he never let it be taken away. My cousin practiced what I preach so much: live intensely. He did, I didn't.

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THE DISEASE BENT HIS BODY

Two months before he died, he began to feel sick. He stopped eating but also stopped expelling naturally what little he ingested. She was visiting hospitals trying to stabilize her metabolism, but in vain. Tests came and went. Medications that did not seem to work. With the courage and stubbornness that characterized him, he continued to resist, but this time in silence.

The complaints of before became mute. For some reason his attitude changed. At that time I only admired him, today I analyze and conclude, perhaps wrongly, that he knew that the day was approaching, that he had definitively lost to diabetes. That is why his resignation, that silence impregnated with courage and firmness.

It was as if he were saying to the disease:

"You never defeated me, I never succumbed to your eagerness to render me useless and lock me up. This time you may succeed, you may lock me up and render me useless, but at least I will not allow you to make my family and friends succumb or be defeated".

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On the beach with my cousin Gregori. On that trip we went by bus. But several times he went by bicycle with his friends, from his home to the beaches of Ocumare de la Costa covering a distance of 60 km.

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And so it was. During his battle against the onslaught of the disease he kept the faith. He decided to embrace hope, he chose to be brave, to fight with optimism and humor. Especially the last few days. And I suspect that the more he noticed his end, the more positive he was and the more hope he chose to convey.

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(To be continued...)