Final Thoughts

Many thoughts were inside my head.

Like, what I was going to eat for dinner that night? What will the weather be like tomorrow? I wonder what time we’ll start heading back? Simple things like that.

Not all my thoughts were simple though. The more troublesome ones were pushed to the side, left in the corner to be dealt with later. Later has latched onto me now, like a pesky fly that won’t flutter away.

I hope Mom and Dad will be okay. Everyone in my situation wishes that though. People who are dying want everything in life to stay the same after they’ve gone, but not at the same time. They don’t want the ones they love to hurt, but if it doesn’t hurt, does that mean they were ever loved at all? Now that’s a complicated question. One I can’t answer, because I know I’m loved. So much so, that I know a little piece of Mom and Dad will die with me. Maybe I sound too presumptuous? 

It must be like that, right? I’m the only child, all the eggs in one basket, so to speak? Now I really do sound like an asshole. I’ll just say it’s the pain medication, it’s making me loopy.

 I’m probably just an asshole.

An asshole who’s currently freezing their skin off. Skin is literally all I have left. All my hair, including the fine tufts found on the arms and leg, have left me. That’s what you get after months of chemo. I’m meant to get less tumours, but that deal fell through a couple weeks ago.

‘It’s terminal’ they said. ‘We’re sorry’ they said. They being the fine men and women walking round with stethoscopes, maybe white coats? I’ve seen that a lot on TV, not so much in real life. I think that may be just a stereotype.

“Sam!”

I can hear my Dad calling for me from the boardwalk. Today is a day for ‘family bonding’ at the beach. We’d only been walking around for an hour before I got exhausted, so I asked to sit on the beach for a while. Mom and Dad made sure to stay close, but not too close. Mom dipped her toes in the water while Dad watched us both from the boardwalk, free from the cold breeze of the sea. Dad made the smart choice. Mom did not, the proof being the full body shiver she makes after her toes hit the pools of water made from low tide. She full on sprints back to Dad, teeth clenched, sandals in hand. Dad catches her and begins rubbing her feet back to warmth, listening to her struggle. I’ll keep that memory forever.

I can see Dad beginning to pack up, calling me over again. I don’t feel ready to go home yet, it’s so boring there and the days drag on. Time moves faster when you’re busy. People must think when you’re dying, you’d want life to go slower, so you can savour every second you have left. For me, even if it means I use the short amount of time I have up faster, I’d rather spend every minute doing something that gets my heart pumping and my head shooting thoughts in every direction. That way, when my body does finally decide to kick the bucket, I’ll have screenshots of all my memories to accompany me, but that’s just a preference.

When you’re old and dying, you’ll know what I mean. I hope you will at least. Don’t take my word for it though.

Remember, I’m just an asshole.