Final Breath

Two

How did your appointment go?
My girlfriend Tessa texts me this with a few worried-faced emojis. She knows how bad my brain is, and the amount of surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation I've had to deal with in the past. She doesn't know that this is the last time I'll ever have to deal with it.
I don't even have it in my spirit to lie to her. I call her immediately, knowing she'd do the same if I just broke the news to her over text. I've never lied or cheated on Tessa in all our three-year relationship. I'm not going to start now.
Obviously, she's very emotional, and I can't do anything about it but wait until she's gotten all her emotions out. I don't say anything while Tessa cries, not knowing the words to say in the first place. I just listen to her sobs and pray that she finds peace, and eventually learns to love again after I'm gone.

It doesn't surprise me at all later that night when dinner comes, and Pastor Lynn is in the kitchen with Dad helping him cook. Deacon Lynn is also in the kitchen, doing something on his phone at the kitchen table.
The whole room goes dead quiet when I walk into the kitchen. I pretend not to notice how everyone is walking on egg shells around me. I just simply have a seat at the table with Deacon Lynn and make sure my phone is shut off, as it's been ringing and vibrating like crazy all day.
The elephant in the room is ignored while Dad and the Lynn couple talk Thanksgiving plans. Dad mentions going back to Atlanta, him, Tyson, and I. The couple talk about going overseas.
By the time dessert is brought out, there's still no mention about my having an in-operable brain tumor, or the fact that I don't have much time left. I guess they figure they'd save that conversation for Sunday service.

I'm right on the nail.
After the choir sings a few selections and Pastor Lynn gives her warm regards to the first time visitors at the church, the rest of service is dedicated to me.
I feel very awkward sitting in a chair at the altar while Pastor Lynn explains what's going on. The congregation is in shambles, a lot of them crying and screaming as if I died already. Dad sits in the front row, his eyes swollen and red from crying again. He looks terrible.
After the offering plate is passed around, Pastor Lynn calls for the end of service, rushing to announce the church's GoFundMe account to donate to Dad. I remain silent the whole time, not saying a word.
I don't know whether to be happy that people actually care whether or not I beat this particular tumor as I've done before with the others, or be upset that they won't pay attention to the fact that I'm super chill and not scared at all. Either way, I don't like the attention.