By Eugen Oniscu

With each passing day, Chirilă Leonte’s health worsened more and more. He was forced to give up his work as a bricklayer because he was feeling increasingly unwell, yet he could not bring himself to go to the hospital, despite his family’s insistence. He firmly believed that he would recover, thinking he was merely a bit tired and that a few days of rest would restore the freshness and vigor of his younger days. Indeed, after just two days of rest, he felt better and thought about calling the two men he usually worked with on masonry jobs to begin working again. But it wasn’t to be—his condition deteriorated again after a few days, he became increasingly fatigued and inexplicably lost weight. At his family’s urging, he finally decided to see a doctor.

From the doctor’s expression during the examination, he immediately sensed that something was seriously wrong. The doctor suggested hospitalization to run some tests, but all of Chirilă’s questions received only vague answers; the doctor said he needed the results to give a clear diagnosis. That first night in the hospital, Chirilă struggled with insomnia, mainly due to his worries, constantly wondering how this episode would end. Throughout his life, he had never truly been ill—he had always had iron health. He had worked hard since the age of eighteen, starting as a laborer on construction sites and eventually becoming an excellent bricklayer. He had worked for several construction firms and was almost always respected by both bosses and coworkers for the quality of his work and for his peaceful nature—he was the kind of man who tried not to upset anyone and simply focused on his own business.

For several years, he had taken on jobs independently, working with two men. When he worked for poorer clients, he would charge a lower price, knowing they didn’t have much money. He was convinced that he wouldn’t lose out—that God would look after him. But when the job was for someone with money, he charged a fair market rate, like any other bricklayer. He had four children—three sons and a daughter—and with his own hands, and the help of day laborers, he managed to build tasteful houses for each of them—truly the finest in their village. He had built three houses, giving one to each of his sons when they married. To Felicia, his youngest and favorite child, he promised his own house, also built by him.

He had worked hard and sacrificed much for his children, saving every penny to build them homes. He had always thought this way:

“When I’m gone, my children will say, ‘Our father worked hard and built us homes. He wasn’t a lazy man who only cared about himself.’ And after my children, my grandchildren will benefit from everything I’ve done. That gives me the satisfaction that I’ve left something behind and didn’t pass through life without making a lasting mark.”

He had always gotten along well with Sofia, his wife, who was a homemaker, always taking care of their children. When the kids were young, Chirilă would sometimes come home only once a week, or even once a month, depending on how far the construction sites were. He never emigrated, always working in Romania, and being a skilled tradesman, he always had work. In fact, during the summers, he couldn’t keep up with demand. People preferred him because he left behind high-quality work. He took pride in knowing that a well-built house stood as testimony to his efforts. He never wanted to do anything superficial, knowing that his clients had paid for materials and placed their trust in him to do a good job.

More than that, he lived his whole life guided by the great standard set by the apostle Paul:

“Let all that you do be done in love!”

He knew he had to carry out his work as if doing it for God. And by doing so, he became beloved and respected by many. His work left behind no complaints, because he knew how to satisfy people. He found joy while his children were young, and later, joy in his grandchildren, happy in the thought that even after his death, his name would live on.

And suddenly, all the joy and fulfillment of his life came to a halt—he was in the hospital, and his health was poor. He didn’t know what was coming and couldn’t control this mysterious illness that was slowly destroying him. That frightened him. He couldn’t bear the idea of being inactive. At fifty-nine years old, he still hoped to be active for at least two or three more years… maybe even more.

That summer, he had work scheduled—he had promised some fellow villagers who had worked in France for years that he would build them a villa. So, he needed to recover quickly and get out of the hospital, which he found terrifying, so that he could work again and enjoy time with his family. Sofia and Felicia visited him in the following days, then his sons. What tore at his heart the most was the worry etched on his daughter’s face. For the first time in his life, he was powerless—he could do nothing for Felicia. He wished he could lift the burden from her heart, rise from the hospital bed, and be healthy again. But the merciless illness held him there, offering no hope of returning to life as a healthy man.

The day came when he received his test results. The internist who had admitted him came to his bed with a very serious expression and told him he had a severe complication and needed to be transferred to another hospital department where he would receive further testing and better care. He was shocked to find himself placed in the oncology ward. Then he understood that his condition was serious and that everything was about to change. The doctor there told him not to worry—that they would run more tests and, if needed, give him a proper treatment to help him recover. But just a few days later, the hospital informed his family that Chirilă had an advanced form of leukemia and didn’t have long to live.

Seeing the worried faces of his family during visits made Chirilă even more sorrowful. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, he saw a face pale from illness, so thin and frail. Once, he had been a striking man with black hair and blue eyes, his face glowing with the joy of living. Now, he looked in the mirror and saw himself graying rapidly, shocked by the reflection staring back at him. His family was deeply grieved, especially Felicia, whose soul was crushed by the thought of losing her father—the man who loved her so deeply.

Chirilă was sent home, but his condition worsened, and he spent most of his time in bed. Friends and relatives came to visit, many shocked by how quickly the merciless illness was overtaking him. Sometimes he saw Felicia weeping by his bedside, and he would try to console her:

“Don’t cry, Felicia. We are all mortal.”

Other times, he greeted her with hopeful words:

“I’ll recover soon, and we’ll go to the city for a walk, do some shopping like the old days, and we’ll each enjoy a pastry. So don’t cry—you’ll see, everything will be fine…”

But as the days passed and his health kept declining, even he stopped believing those words. One day, the pastor from his church came to visit and spoke to him about the need to make peace with people and with God. After the pastor left, Chirilă was stunned. He realized the pastor had come to prepare him for death. He was very sick, and his family was hiding the truth from him. Despite his insistence, all he got were evasive answers. But he understood—he was dying, and the treatment he was receiving was only to ease his suffering. He was just a step away from death. At first, that thought terrified him, but he decided that just as he had lived with dignity, he would also die with dignity, without causing more pain to his family.

Sometimes he reflected on his life, remembering his younger days—strong, hardworking, enjoying moments of rest with his family. Was this the end of his journey? It felt like he stood at the threshold of a border he would never cross again. One thing troubled him: looking back, he felt he had done too little good for others selflessly and had focused too much on doing everything possible for his family. But God was good—he knew that from life experience, for he had been blessed throughout his earthly journey. Still, he couldn’t understand why things had turned so badly for him. That unanswered question haunted him. Perhaps he had simply worked too hard, neglecting his own health, and the illness had come upon him as a result.

One morning, while Sofia was outside tending to the cow and chickens, Chirilă watched the sunlight stream into his room, illuminating everything—first his hands, then his chest, and finally his face. Though he felt very weak, he rejoiced in the grandeur of the sunlight and gratefully welcomed the light of that new day.

Oh, how much he wished in that moment to be healthy and live a little longer. Then he saw the sunlight fall on the Bible on his nightstand, lighting up its black cover and the red-edged pages. It was the Bible he had read all his life, carrying it with him everywhere. How much the words of hope in that Book had comforted him. There, the character of God and Jesus’s great sacrifice of love at Golgotha for all humanity were beautifully described. There was the promise of a city built by God for those who love Him:

“Oh, the New Jerusalem—there will be no more night, no more pain, death will disappear, and eternal happiness will crown the people. Yes, a wonderful hope, and what a glorious future awaits me because of divine mercy…”

Chirilă’s face lit up in that moment, touched by a smile that rose above pain and fear of death—a smile of victory over death. That smile lasted only a few moments before he was overcome by a state of spiritual ecstasy, and then sleep embraced him—a deep, sweet sleep like he had never known before.

The book by his bedside continued to shine beautifully in the light-filled room. And Chirilă’s lifeless body, stretched out on the bed and bathed in sunlight, was wrapped in the embrace of divine mercy.