[Essay] You are Enough

The Empty Chair at the Table

Feb 16, 2024

“He will be removed off life support in 1 hour.”

As my brother hung up the phone, the single sentence he said stormed my mind like mortar shells shattering the tranquility of the night.

Driving to the hospital, we passed Christmas lights sketching the perimeter of trees and neighborhoods. Cars dotted the streets and driveways as families stuffed themselves into their warm houses. Families fill the tables with bellies filled with joy.

But tonight, one chair will be empty.

One voice won’t be heard ever again.

It felt like an onset of disease. My stomach plummeted like I was on a roller coaster. I couldn’t think clearly. Goosebumps formed on my skin as my body prepared for an oncoming assault.

My uncle was going to die.

In the hospital through thin-paned glass, I saw my uncle lying in bed. His once vibrant skin is now dried and a ghostly white. The transparent tubes which once provided medicine are now drained clean and put away. My cousins stood around the bed saying their goodbyes through quiet whispers. The EKG steadied from a whimpering blip to a dead droning horn.

After a few seconds, I returned to the lobby where the family shared a space of solitude sitting shoulder to shoulder. Some sat, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling as they rubbed the bridge of their nose with index finger and thumb. Others leaned forward with their elbows dug into their knees keeping their eyes glued to the ground. I leaned against the spine of my chair and stared ahead at the eggshell white walls analyzing it as though it were some abstract paintings.

“There’s not much for me to do here. I wish I could do more.”

I closed my eyes. Memories flooded my mind like a film shown at 3 times the speed. I couldn’t see what was happening, but the emotions undulated like waves in a storm.

I wish I could do more as well, but I stopped myself.

Wishing I could do more implies me being here isn’t enough. That I am not enough.

I recognize the wish as a lure from my workaholism fishing for a bite, so I’d slip back into habits. I have to be strict when it comes to choosing to do work or else it’ll spiral into chaotic busyness. To break the cycle, I needed to focus on what was important right now.

What was more important: I head home and prepare food for the family or be here in the waiting room right now?

I chose to stay.

The door to the hospital room opened and my cousin entered the waiting room. Everyone looked up. His teary face is a mixture of despair and gratitude.

It was over.

His father was gone.

Later that night, I visited their house with steaming dal, rice, and keema. The culinary equivalent of a warm hug.

Books filled the coffee table ranging from basic mathematics to abstract calculus. He was a professor by title and a teacher at heart. I prepped the table for food and headed to the living room where others sat sharing stories about him. The only chair open was his. I avoided it to not intrude on his space, but the family urged me to take his seat.

The chair was too big. I had to lean against one arm rest to get comfortable. We passed around stories and felt the gravity of the loss. Like the earth lost its moon.

Sitting in his chair as the stories were told was dream-like.

The stories revealed a different shade of him. Interspersed among the stories were sorrow filled phone calls coming in from throughout the world. People from the U.S, Korea, India, UK. Family, friends, grad students, and other professors paid their respects to him.

Each new detail made the chair expand: ‘wait whose chair am I sitting in again?’.

The clock struck the top of the hour as the last story ended.

I left his chair feeling dwarfed by the impact he left and the lives he’s touched.

For a while I was half-assessing my way through some aspects of life. Some parts were going wayside while others were skyrocketing. I was playing the game of life with one foot out like I had a backup plan in case this doesn’t work out.

But that’s not how life works.

Life is a game I don’t get to play unless I’m all in.

Since I’m all in already, why not make it wonderful? Why not put my full self on the table? Make it a good movie to watch as my life passes by my eyes in the end. Because one day, my chair will be empty at the table. My voice will no longer be heard.

When I was in the hospital, I was worried about not doing enough to help.

I thought my actions mattered more than me as a person. I saw myself as irrelevant and disposable. But that’s not living. That’s being dead but waiting to be buried years later.

If I’m going to play all in on the game of life, I need to understand the basic fact:

I am enough.

Special Shoutout to these generous writers who gave their time and attention to help me form this story: