| � Prelude � I�m dying. I�m actually dying. Wow. Who would have thought it huh? Definitely not me. I always thought it was impossible. No, not really. What I mean is that I just never thought it would ever happen to me at this age. I always pictured myself getting married, having kids, watching them grow up, watching my grand children grow up, then I�d die. Not at twenty one. Not when I still had my career, my fans, the guys, my life. I really can�t believe it�s actually happening. To me. To J dawg, to baby bounce, to fro boy. To me. Anyway, who came up with the word death? Why did they make it sound so dead, so final? Why didn�t I face the facts sooner? Why didn�t it occur to me that something really was wrong and hurry to the doctor? Why was I so stupid? Why? Why me? You know what, I don�t know. I seriously don�t. I don�t know anything. I have so many questions, so little answers. The only thing that�s clear is that I�m dying. Yup, dying. Nothing seems real anymore. Not the conversations, not the jokes, not the singing, nothing. Even the guys seem far away. So far away� No one can save me. Not now, not ever. All there is for me in the future is that looming, bleak sentence. Something I can never forget. I can feel it sometimes, the fatigue. Even whilst doing something as simple as climbing the stairs I find myself panting, unable to breathe with the ease I used to have. Sometimes I hurt, especially in the morning. Just lying there is a pain. The pain that reminds me it�s real, so very real. The pain that reminds me what little I have left. They don�t know. No one knows. Johnny thinks I�m �going through a phase�. I�m going to get out of it soon, he says. How do I tell him I won�t? How do I tell him I know I won�t? That�s the problem. I can�t. The guys don�t know. They think I�m just suffering from a lack of sleep, that�s why I�m so pale nowadays. Get some rest, they say. How do I tell them I don�t want to rest because I might be doing that for a long, long time, maybe for eternity? That�s the thing. I can�t. I can�t. I sit outside on the porch swingset, rocking myself gently, feeling the gentle breeze, enjoying the vast greenery in front of me, enjoying the smell of the flowers, of the earth, taking in the sight of the wonderful sunset in front of my eyes, taking in its wonderful colours, the way they blend together, one of the most beautiful things on Earth. The sun seems so far away, the sky endless. A Chinese poem I read comes to mind suddenly, not that I read Chinese, but one that one of my friends told me about. Something about how beautiful the sunset is. Too bad it�s over soon, just like life. Short, though now that I think of it, not necessarily sweet. How fitting it seems. It doesn�t exactly sound very poetic in English, but it seems perfect for me. For today. For the future. I can�t do a thing about it. All I can do is wait. Wait for the inevitable to happen. And hopefully, enjoy what�s left of it. I sit there, just watching, absorbing everything around me, committing it to memory though it I know that soon it would all be forgotten, just like everything else I know, I�ve experienced. Soft footsteps approach, light, quiet. I don�t need to turn around to see who it is. I know who it is. She�s here. I don�t know how, but I do, just like I know whenever she�s near. In a crowd, all the faces blur but hers. All the faces disappear, except hers. I don�t turn, don�t do anything, just sit there, watching. She knows I know she�s there. I don�t know why, but she does, just like the way I know she knows. She sits down beside me. Comfortable silence fills the place, none of us say a word, yet it is wonderful. More wonderful than anything else I�ve known. Wonderful just like the understanding we share. Wonderful. I hear the birds chirp far away, my mind drifting a way from the peaceful harmony mother nature has to what I have to say, how to say it. It�s hard. I can�t think of anything suitable, anything remotely appropriate, anything that won�t make her cry. She waits patiently, not a word said. I decide to do the best thing for us. Go direct. Just like we�ve always been. I gulp. I open my mouth but no words come out. How can they? How do you tell someone you�re dying? I try again. �I�m sick.� I say awkwardly, my voice sounding choked with emotion. I hate it. Disbelief crosses her face and she refuses to believe until she sees my grim expression. She closes her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat, trying to hide her shock, her panic, her pain. She sits there suddenly still, silent, absorbing. All is quiet for five minutes. The longest five minutes of my life, they are. I have to continue or I might never be able to do it. Never be able to summon the courage. �I have cancer, Jas, Can you believe it?� I try to sound detached, like it doesn�t matter to me. Even though it does. It does. It does so much. My vision blurs a bit, and I hold back the pain I�ve kept in there for so long. So, so long. �How long more?� She asks quietly, masking her emotions, though I can hear it in her voice. �Depends. They say three weeks. At the most.� I look at the floor, my gut clenching at the sound of those emotional words. Just three words were said, yet I hear the raw pain in that now strained voice. She�s trying to be brave. I appreciate it. I cannot bear to meet her eyes because I know that if I do, I�ll see her hurt and I won�t be able to hold on. At a loss, I try to find some words of comfort. I can�t. I can�t look at her. I know that if I do, I�ll only make it harder for me, for her, for the both of us. I picture her expression in my mind and I feel the tears fill my eyes. Tears for the time I have left, for her and her baby, for her strength. She pulls me in a hug. I seek the comfort from it. She seeks comfort from it. We both do. I take in the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her skin against mine, the texture of her silky beautiful hair. I need to remember this forever. I need to. But I know I won�t be able to. I know I can�t. I think of how to break it to her- the fact that I don�t want her there when I�m suffering. That I want her to remember me as her brother, her friend, her confidante, her pillar of strength. I don�t want to be remembered sick, frail, pale. Deathly. I don�t. ��� I thought I knew what pain was. I was wrong. This pain is numbing, excruciating. Mind blowing. Slowly killing me. Everything else I feel, I know, everything around me fades into the background, all fades away. All except the pain. Some days I feel like I�m being eaten alive. Literally. And I am. I am. Most days I don�t even know who I am, everything cloudy, like a fog. Surrounding me. Enveloping me. I feel so sickly, so weak. Nothing is real anymore. I have good days though. Days when I can remember. Days when I can remember her. Her bright eyes, her face, her cheerful smile, her voice, everything. It gets me through the pain, the suffering. Today though, it�s different. I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones, in me. It�s so different. I fall asleep through I try desperately to hold on, try desperately to stay awake. It doesn�t work. I feel my consciousness slipping. Slowly, but surely. Everything slips away, even the pain. The world around me fades away, my senses going dead, neither being able to see or hear. I almost miss the sound of the machines beside me beeping, the sight of the white wall, boring white sheets. It seems so much safer than this. This blackness. Then I see it. Her face. Her smile. Comfort evokes itself out of my heart. Fear leaves me. All I see is her smile and angelic face. Suddenly it hits me. I�m surprised I never knew it before, the fact so clear to me now. I love her. I love her. That�s why I know whenever she�s around, whatever she�s feeling, whenever she understands. It�s because of that. It�s because I love her. I never knew. She never knew. None of us knew. But it�s too late. I never got to tell her. I never got to say it. I�ve had all the answers I need. It�s my love for her that answers all my numerous questions. It�s what brings me peace. I take my last breaths, shallow, uneven. I feel myself falling. Falling deeper and deeper, unable to do anything about it. Yet, none of it seems important. The pain, gone. All I think about are three simple words. I love her. I love� ��� Blackness. Nothing else exists. Not even me. |
 |