Niam One Shots

20- Coping With Death

20- Coping With Death

The strangest part for me was really three different things.

The first was that I had spent almost eight months of my year constantly thinking about Niall even more than usual. After he got sick, It was always Niall's trying to get better, or Niall's getting the correct medication, and occasionally Niall is starting to eat slightly regularly!

Then all of a sudden, the one thing that had taken up so much of my year was gone. Not just for me, but for everybody, Harry, Louis, Zayn--all of us. We had all spent so much of our time focusing on Niall and his cancer, that it felt like a rug being pulled from beneath us when he was gone; it felt like I had to focus on something else now to keep my attention.

Then it was no longer Niall's trying to get better, it became Niall's not suffering anymore.

It became I miss you, and it became I'll love you every day.

There was no more watching Niall cry because he knew he was losing; there was no more watching him stare at a wall in defeat.

It became I wish you were here to see this, it became I'll thank God every day for the time I had with you, it became Rest In Peace.

But that was only part of it. The other strange part was thinking about how much time and effort we put into taking care of ourselves, taking care of our bodies.

We eat three meals a day, shower, change our clothes, fix our hair, etcetera etcetera. We spend our entire life taking the best care we can of ourselves; each person has a different way of taking care of their body.

Some people are very simple about it while others are very complex. I always saw Niall as having a complex every-day routine to take care of himself--before he was sick, of course. Sometimes he would pull out his hair gels and his hair dyes and his new patches to sew onto his jacket and I would just stare in awe because Niall was so breathtaking.

Niall had all these things he did regularly as if they were nothing, while I watched on thinking they were privileges because what did I know? I was only a teenager in love; I didn't have all these decisions to make to plan my own boyfriend's funeral.

Many things create a routine, such as his daily coffee. Niall really loved coffee, and was even asking for it during his last few days here. While he was miserable in his hospital bed, exhausted, and--honestly, dying, he still wanted his precious coffee.

So for someone who had all these things they did daily, it was hard for me to see him under a white sheet. I couldn't believe it, I left the room to see my precious sleeping boyfriend in a hospital bed, but when I came back all that was left behind was a shell of who he was. He had up and left, leaving his old self behind.

I experienced a wave of confusion because really, how could that happen in mere minutes? It made me wonder if he was still there with us, floating free without a poisoned corpse to hold him back, watching as we all cried. So how was is that something that once required such a complex routine for so many years had been put into a body bag? Sealed into a freezer that was just big enough to hold him? It felt as if something so bold was abruptly silenced, never to speak again.

I experienced that same wave of confusion as I saw him in his opened casket at the funeral. I reached out to wrap my fingers around his wrist only to find freezing cold flesh. My Niall had been frozen, literally, for the past week.

The fact that he didn't look himself at all really didn't help that confusion either. I was angry, seeing him in that casket. It made me want to shout and yell because that was not my Niall.

It was not the Niall I had known since we were in diapers. It was not the sickly Niall I had seen so, so many times in that passing year. That was the last time I would ever see Niall, so of course I was angry he didn't look himself.

Yes it was confusing that he was placed in that box, and that once that box was sealed around him it would never be opened again. Such routine to get himself through the day, yet the next thing you know he's sealed in a box that he won't ever move from.

The final thing that was strange was the way his cancer not only took his life, but took his happiness. No matter what I tell myself, I know that I watched him lose his happiness. I can't even remember the last time he smiled, can't even imagine his contagious laugher anymore. All I could do was gently hug him--not even expecting a hug in return anymore as the cancer took that away from him as well--and give him a smile.

I'd tell him I love him so very much, that I'd see him again in a few short days and watch as his tired eyes stared at me silently as if he were memorizing every detail about me. I would take a glance at the tired bags under his eyes and then go in to give him a gentle kiss because I had about as much optimism at this point as he did. This year he had practically lived in the hospital, and when we weren't here with him, we hired two home-nurses for our flat.

So that was the final thing that was strange for me. Something once bursting with laughter and love was turned into this exhausted shell of a person left to die. He was robbed of his life far too soon for my liking, but then again if it were up to me, any time would be too soon. He went from smothering me with kisses, food, and dancing, to staring at me silently as I told him how much I love him.

A few times I was hurt that he just stared in reply with that empty gaze, but I could never blame him of anything. I know he loves me, he's told me plenty before. It was better he saved his energy anyway, because I know it took so much out of him to even mumble a couple words.

Yes it was excruciatingly hard and painful when things went from I'll see you in a two days, to it's been two days without you, but I really did feel a major weight lift off my shoulders once he let go after a year of clinging by the last of his ten weak fingers. Not to be misinterpreted because I'd prefer it if he were still here with us to make us smile, but never if it would mean he would have to be tortured another second.

Which is why I now sit in my bed revising the story as my brain slowly shuts down. Now is my time, I tell myself. The empty bottle of sleeping pills seems to agree with me, and I wipe my tears on the sleeve of Niall's sweater I'm wearing.

My name is Liam Payne. It has been 83 days without Niall Horan. You could say I'm shit at coping with death.

29 January 2014

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I needed to get that out of my system.

What did ye think guys? I'm so exhausted right now.

tell me about yourselves, how old are you guys? Where you from? What school year are you in?