Hit By A Truck

Robin

The news came a few minutes after the nurse and I were done reading Pierre's story. It was interesting, and I was counting on book two being on the way.

Shortly after the nurse left, my father and mother came into the hospital room. They sat down by the guest chairs, looking miserable.

Finally, my father sighed, and walked over to my bedside. "I'm sorry, my son. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." He whispered.

My mother sighed and looked away, on the verge of tears as well. There was nothing to be done - nothing. I would die soon, and there was nothing anyone could do. Everyone knew that.

Me, most of all.

Even though on the surface it would seem as though I was the one who was going to suffer the most from my death, no doubt it would really be my parents. They would grieve for days on end until finally, even that would be too painful for them.

I'm sure no doubt they'll be brought back by the kind words of the people around them, but they will suffer, and it saddened me that they had to.

It was like a sudden weight digging deep into my soul and heart, breaking it to pieces.

'If only there were something I could do - anything.'

The weight on their backs which they already couldn't endure made stronger by the confirmation of what was to come.

A nurse came in at about 1:57, and said, "Mr. and Ms. Jones, can you please come outside with us. We have something important to tell you."

My parents - looking miserable - headed out with the nurse, and they shut the door, so I couldn't hear through it. After about ten minutes, they came back. My mother was crying silently into her palms.

"You may choose whether to tell your son or not. I have no say in it." The nurse said, and then walked away after offering her condolences.

'Oh.' I thought. It wasn't a surprise - it was bound to come anytime, but a weight like a heavy boulder pushed it's way into me, and suddenly, I was unwilling to know when it was.

That was when I realised I could prepare, do this and that, Whatever I could do. It was shame I couldn't read Pierre's second book, the first was amazing.

At least I would leave knowing I was leaving. I wouldn't just black out suddenly, randomly, who knows what my last thought would be. For all I know, it could be 'potato'.

Then, I would be gone.

So, I took a deep breath, mustered up my courage, and asked my parents, "Mother, father?"

They both looked at me, with pained expressions on their faces, but still responded. "What is it, my son?"

"When will I be gone?" I asked with a voice so quiet I thought they might not have heard me.

They did.