One drink to remember and another to forget

Just do it. How difficult is that? He wants to die, let him die. It's up to me to give him peace; the struggle of a lifetime can be cut wit h one swift move of the scalpel. If it weren't for his eyes, it'd be easier. We have the same exact eyes; color, shape, size, depth. It's like looking into myself when I glance at him. He wants me to kill him, to calm the torrent storm within him--the ache that's been tormenting him for years--and I can do it. My blade can end it all and it can look like a mistake. Should I or shouldn't I? He's my uncle and I love him. No one in the family has to know what I did. I blame it all on nature and he gets what he wants: no suffering. What do I get? A lifetime of guilt. It's my job to save lives. I'm like a fucking saint in the eyes of my patients, co-workers, family and friends. I wake up from no sleep and save people from the bright light. I get to drive a Lexus and wear expensive clothing in my high-rise apartment because I wear gloves and diagnose people. But now the tables have turned. My uncle is sick, we are trapped and he needs emergency medical attention. When we're alone, he tells me to make it look like an accident. He can't stand going through life with such suffering. He says that it's taken a toll on his wife--she lost the light in her eyes, slowly watching me die. Just end it, he says. Make my life better by ending it. The man with my eyes takes my hand and grips it and I know he means it. It's not the drugs I gave him; it's not a hallucination. He really wants to be put out of his misery. What do I do? I'm supposed to save lives, not purposefully end them. Not end the life of family. How am I supposed to walk out of the room and tell his wife and children--my aunt and cousins--that their beloved father and husband didn't make it? That is body didn't pull through? That it was his time? Yeah, I've done that speech to numerous families over the years. The first explanation is the worst by far. It's the worst because it's the first person you've lost. It's the worst because you have to tell a family that they'll never see their loved one ever again. How can I do that to flesh and blood? See the tears stream down my family's face like that? Especially when I could have prevented it. One slice and it's over. He's at peace, yet I'm at war. Fuck, what do I do? He lays here on the makeshift table, waiting to be cut open and he doesn't expect to wake up again. He's sad that he'll never get to hold his wife's hand. He's distressed that he won't see his grandchildren grow up. But he's happy knowing that he wont be in pain anymore. That look of jubilance is something I've never seen before. In all of my years as a human being, let alone a doctor, I have never seen that happiness in someone's eyes before. My eyes. We have the same eyes. I look at him and it's a reflection of myself. His eyes tell me to kill him. My brain tells me it's murder and that I'll never be the same for it. But it's in the eyes. It's there. I can't kill him. Let his disease do that for him. At least then I won't feel so bad. Maybe I'll be worse off then? What if his travesty drags him through several years and he dies with pain in his eyes. I dont wan't pain in my eyes either. At least him dying tonight would be his choice, not his body's. He's a beautiful man and he deserves a beautiful end in this world. But I can't do it. Then he smiles at me with his warm, hazel eyes--just like mine--and I can't help but to smile back with mine. Christ. I know what I should do.