I'll come again...

My older brother is undergoing cancer treatment. Worried about the long-distance drive given his current situation, I told him he didn't have to push himself to come home this year, but
last month, as planned, my brother came to visit our mother, who lives in a group home.

The
email
I exchanged with my brother before he came home really hurt my heart.

While I still have the strength
this might be the last time... he said...

My brother, whom I hadn't seen in a while, looked visibly weakened. Perhaps due to hair loss from chemotherapy or the effects of his concurrent diabetes, I could see skin damage, such as numerous mole-like spots on his face and neck. My brother, who was never talkative to begin with, didn't say much to our mother, instead listening to the conversation between me and our mother with a gentle expression. When he left after a visit of several dozen minutes, he had for some time always held our mother's hand at the end and

said, "I'll come again..."
before parting ways.

Never before had these words felt so painful. My mother has early-stage dementia; she seems to understand who my brother is, but for the past few years, she has mistaken him for my uncle (her younger brother). That is a bit sad in itself, but when I thought that this might be the last time my brother sees our mother, it was even more unbearable for me inside. I had special feelings about his visit this year, so I took a photo of my mother and brother, just to have a picture.

A photo of my mother and brother together.
I look at it from time to time,
wishing they can meet again next year,
spending my days in prayer.