I am in enforcement. Correction, I was in enforcement and now I'm in between enforcement and male medical. I can't speak much when I was in enforcement, because of the nature of the work involved. We inspect, we raid, we investigate, we prosecute. It's so different, and so far removed from the hospital environment. But the moment they told me about you yesterday, boy, half an hour after they stopped resuscitating, I was immediately transported back. Back to that month, where I used to see you five days a week in paeds. . . E told me you looked fine that morning. Nothing on the case notes indicated that somehow you would take a turn for the worse. You were only 12. You crashed and by the hand of God, you were gone. Not even 3 specialists and 3 mos can bring you back. . . I remember you, boy. I remember the distinct smell of your room. Every time as I walked in and out the ward, I used to peek into your room, to see what you're doing. Sometimes you'll be sitting cross-legged on the bed, sometimes you'll be sleeping. Sometimes you will be smiling with your dad, sometimes he will be playing chess with you. I remember your dad weaving his fishing net. I know he loves you, he was always there with you. I remember the snowcap that you used. Just as your hair started to grow back in little tufts, another chemo course was started and the hair was all gone the next day. I remember issuing out the chemo drugs for your doctors. I remember the exact colour of your skin, I remember how your skin turned red with the cytarabine. I remember the infusion machines hooked up to both arms. I know you were not doing too well, but I didn't foresee that you would be gone either. Because we were doing all we can to keep you alive. . . I feel for you, because you have stayed isolated in that hospital room for months. You shouldn't have died in the hospital. If I can choose, I wish you could be on a grassy knoll with the sun on your face. But no one would have known. For what it's worth, I just want you to know that you are remembered. That a lot of people feel pain at your passing. Myself included, and I wasn't the only one who cried. This may be a sign of weakness, the fact that I get so emotionally affected that easily, but I cherish it, because that's what makes me human. I never want to lose my empathy. Why shouldn't I grieve for a young life lost? . . May you rest in peace, R.