Gift of a Lifetime

Chapter 1: Goodbye Forever- I

When I had my first asthma attack, I would've never guessed that it would be the first step into a painful road leading to death. I was seven years old, playing an innocent game of tag with my best friend, Lindsey. I remember tripping and falling flat on my face, then getting up like everything was fine. As soon as I stood, I felt my airways close in a disturbing twist. I fell back down and into a coughing fit when Lindsey ran over to me. Then it was her father. Then it was my mom. Then it was Lindsey's sister.

They were all crowding around me.

I don't remember much after that, other than Lindsey next to me in the back seat of our old jeep, offering me water, holding my hand, ensuring me that I would be okay. I remember the way her ginger hair was tied back; she was panting, not any more from running but for my sake. How her laughter so quickly transitioned to a desperate cry for our mothers.

And then my most recent asthma attack, at the age of 8. It was when the blood suddenly emerged from my mouth that everything went downhill. My mother almost screamed, I could see it, but she just covered her mouth and rushed me into the car. I had shown signs of cancer before that, like unbearable fatigue to the point where I'd sleep for hours at a time, or the time when I'd lost nine pounds for no apparent reason.

Cancer hit me like a bus. As soon as we found out, I was stuck in the hospital 24/7. It was to the point where I had to drop out of school and learn from the hospital tutors(or whatever they were called). One of the only things that kept me sane was Lindsey, who came to visit a lot after school was over. At stage four, when I was nine, the doctors said there was nothing else to stop it. They had before considered a lung transplant of some sort, but my body was too frail. I was a small boy, slender and short (4'7). At one point I thought of myself like my old hamster, Poppy, who had a tumor which they couldn't remove because she was too small. There was a 6% chance of her surviving, so they put her to sleep. I cried for days. She was quite old, —a year and a half —my mother had said that her time was coming soon, but that didn't help me at all. I couldn't help but think of the times she tried to tell me she was in pain, but I assumed it was something else and didn't tell my mother. (Poppy squealed as I attempted to stroke her belly, rolling over so there was no way to reach it. She just doesn't like being touched on her stomach, like most animals, I thought.)

One day, when my death was at a few weeks notice, Lindsey had come to visit me. When I looked at her, her eyelids were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. Her eyes were moist as she gazed at me. I couldn't stand to look at her like that, but I was almost too sick to move.

She took my hand in hers, a tear escaping from one of her glossy eyes.

When I saw this look on her face, I did my best to reassure her. We'll see each other again, Lindsey.

She smiled and said, I know.

Unfortunately, all I could do was smile and stare. We sat there for a while as she talked to me, telling me about a boy she liked at school and how she wishes I could meet him, she even showed me scratches on her knuckles and told me cats are mean, and laughed, despite her sad, wet face. In those moments I got to admire her features-- a short button nose, dark blue eyes, a freckle here and there. Her hair was just below shoulder-length, wavy and frizzy from the humidity. Some of her hair was pulled back behind her right ear to reveal a silver crescent earring. I knew she would be beautiful when she grew older, not that she wasn't then, and it hurt the most to know that I would never get to see it.

I'm gonna be an author, she told me.

What's that?

It means I'm gonna write stories for people to read. And I'm gonna dedicate my first one to you, Theo.

I could see that she was holding it all in.

She laid her head on my stomach, creating a soreness all over my abdomen that I would never admit to, and tears fell onto my blanket. Sad, sad tears.

After Lindsey left, my mother came into the room. It hurt so bad to just leave them all here.

"Are you guys gonna be okay?" A tear fell down to my ear.

My mother smiled at me. "Of course, baby." But she looked uncertain.

After a long pause, I spoke in a low voice, "It's not fair."

I started crying. This was all too much for nine-year-old me. My mother cradled me in her arms, pressing my head to her chest. She was crying, too. I listened to her heartbeat, racing and uneven, as I thanked God for giving me a life with loving people, even if it was short. The warmth of a human body against me was one of the best feelings in the world.

When I had begun to calm down, she climbed into the bed with me so we were hugging each other as we dozed off. I was lulled by the heart monitor behind me, finally beeping at a slow and steady rhythm. After being diagnosed I never got much sleep without sedation. But this time, I needed none.