The last thing I need’s another phone call. Another fruit basket saying how they hope he’ll get well. The last thing I need’s another vase of flowers, cause in two days their water grows sour and their heads turn down. Their heads turn down, and they look so sad. Cause that’s what happens when you live in my house for two days. Can you imagine a week? Can you imagine a month or two? Can you imagine a year? Can you imagine being me? Blackbird by The Beatles.

They call and ask how are you doing? I say I’m fine and my voice goes up two polite happy octaves, I do this all the time. They chuckle so relieved, like oh poor she, so naive no idea what’s really going on. He must be so strong, hiding it from her so well. Oh, go to hell. What were you expecting me to say? You don’t even know my middle name. What in God’s name would make you think I’d tell you how much I hate it all? How life sucks at a time like this. How before I answered, I already wanted to hang up. How much pain pretending brings. What would make you think I’d let you know?

Oh wow another “insert here”, how sweet. A piece of paper saying Get Well. Is it rude to send a thank you letter saying go to hell? You’re fruits, chocolates, assorted nuts and popcorn don’t help. I guess this whole thing has made me a little bitter. But I’m so tired of people saying, “if there’s anything I can do” and then they watch you cry. Take me away from here. Let breath some cancer free air. Why don’t you babysit your sickly too young a father? You’re phone calls are just a bother so please stop calling. Please stop calling, just to remind me he’s sick. I remember, I never forgot. We got through September without another blood clot that’s a victory to me. Do you see how sad my life’s become? I don’t need you as a string around my thumb. I remember, I remember all too well. Cause remembering means it’s over, it’s not over, will it ever be?

Get away from me. I push people away when times get hard. Cause I’m not fun when I’m crying, I’m not fun when my soul is dying. People only like me when I’m laughing, when I’m cheerful. No one likes a Debby Downer even though that’s not my name. I’m tired of pretending everything is okay for random people’s sakes. They act like it hurts them as much as it does us. So, tell me, where were you Christmas Day? When we were acting like everything is okay even though his face is wan and his skin’s too tight and he slept at the hospital last night. Two weeks before Dec. 25, 2009 I didn’t know things would be changing. That’s thing about life, there’s no warning. There’s just a hospital chair with your name on it. Sitting there alone while everyone else is in Winter Break spirit. I sat next to a little boy, never got his name, all I remember in the pain I saw in his father’s eyes when he said stay here, right here while I go see mommy. He was reading a book twice his size. And I started crying. He asked if I was alright.

That was the first day of the longest days of my life. They haven’t ended yet. I picture the boy’s big black eyes and the way his feet didn’t touch the ground. I wouldn’t leave my chair when it was my turn to go visit my father. I couldn’t leave him alone. I couldn’t protect from the tears in his father’s eyes. I looked out the window to keep from staring, it was snowing, the first snow fall. I remembered when I was his age and it was nine o’clock at night and the ground turned white. My mom and dad woke me and my sister up and took us outside and we played for the longest time. One of the best memories. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, whether it was true or not. I wanted to scream because it wasn’t fair to him. So I cried some more.