I only meant to stop by the hospital for a few minutes\u2014to pick up my late mother\u2019s medical paperwork and leave. But as I walked past the oncology ward, I saw something that made me freeze in my tracks. A small boy, no older than eight, sat alone on the floor, clutching his backpack like it was the only thing keeping him safe. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold back tears, while people hurried by without even noticing him. Something inside me told me I couldn\u2019t just keep walking. I knelt down and asked softly, \u201cHey there, are you okay?\u201d He looked up with red, tear-streaked eyes and whispered, \u201cMy mom\u2019s inside. She told me to wait, but she\u2019s been gone a long time\u2026 I don\u2019t want her to be sick anymore.\u201d In that instant, I realized this boy\u2019s world had stopped in the same hallway where mine once had.<\/p>\n
His name was Malik. He told me he and his mom had been facing her illness alone for months. He tried to help her the only way he knew how\u2014by selling his toys and slipping the money into her purse when she wasn\u2019t looking. Listening to him felt like hearing my younger self speak; I had lost my mom in that same ward only weeks before. I couldn\u2019t undo my pain, but I could stop him from carrying his alone. When Malik\u2019s mother came out, pale but smiling weakly, I introduced myself. Her name was Mara, and she explained apologetically that children weren\u2019t allowed inside the consultations, so Malik waited alone each time. I told her I understood\u2014and before I left, I promised I\u2019d visit them the next day.<\/p>\n