On The Edge of Invisible.

Chapter 1 • almost eighteen

Grace

I watched silently as the familiar people cried around me. Their eyes would soon be red and puffy, and their noses running softly. Their next step would be up from those chairs and out of the small room. Maybe their dreams would be haunted with the tiny, worn down room; not the large, roomy room from the beginning of the ordeal, comfy and home-like, but the one they sat in now, the small, cramped, dreary room, the only room they could now afford, the room in which the worst day of their lives had occurred. Some of them might even move on, while others will find solace at the bottom of a bottle. Perhaps one day, the memory of me evanescent in their mind, they will see a familiar face and be crushed by the nostalgia it brings.

But for now their sobs were loud, and filled with pain.

I too could be bawling, screaming at god, pleading for the reasons why my life had been taken so early on. Why my strength had faded so quickly. Why the hope was so easily lost, and pain so easily found. I could yell up towards the heavens, cursing petty things, but at the end of it all, it was useless to me; especially crying.

Crying was something of the past, I had given it up long ago. Maybe if you would have asked me 3 years ago 'are you scared', I would have answered a struggled 'yes' through pouring tears. I would have balled up my fists and pounded them against the wall, begging for forgiveness for whatever I had done to deserve this; for whatever sin I had committed that had returned to me in this awful form. But today I hadn't a tear left in my body, though those around me weren't quite as fortunate.

My eyes met my mothers as she bawled helplessly towards the body that lay still in front of her. I felt remorse in my heart for knew I would never be able to properly apologize for the amount of pain I had put her through. My father's hand gently caressed her back. His normally dry eyes were pouring with tears, a sight that shocked me to say the least. Dad never cried, whether it was Grammy passing away without out a memory of any of us, or auntie Lisa being sucked under that semi a few years backed, crushed instantly in her Mini Cooper. He was conveniently there for everyone else without a tear in his eyes. But now here he sat in front of me, the small drops of water cascading like a river down his face.

I wanted to hug him and tell him I was alright, anything to stop the pain he so rarely showed, but all there was to comfort him was my limp body, and the constant beep of the machine signally the inevitable truth.

I let my eyes glide across the room to the eldest of my siblings, Sam. I watched as he picked at the edges of his nails until they turned bright pink, an act he only performed before a big game, or a first date with a pretty girl. The same way he fiddled with his fingers before opening that letter from Harvard, only to be happily surprised. Though today I'm sure the news was the opposite of happy. His tears fell silently onto his strong hands as he shook in the small chair.

Next to him sat Jack, who was younger than me by 3 years. I imagined him in my shoes the short three years ago when the so called 'tragedy' struck. He would have been stronger, fought longer, maybe even won. His track record on the cross country team was phenomenal and his dark blue eyes irresistible, but in the dim lighting of the northern Georgia hospital I could see they weren't as youthful as they had been before. They brimmed with clear tears that fell down his tanned cheeks and landed briskly on the floor, collecting into small puddles of liquid sadness.

Finally my eyes landed on those I dreaded most, Annie's. Her bright green eyes sparkled, tearlessly beautiful. She was only 4, barely born at the time I was diagnosed. I wondered if she'd remember my dark brown hair that had disappeared when she turned two. If she'd recall my blue eyes that mirrored those of Jack. If she'd grow up and tell people she had two siblings or three.

Her bouncy blonde hair spread across the black chair with the aid of static electricity as she rested her head gently. Her eyes were making rounds, probably wondering why everyone was crying. Why the girl in the bed wasn't smiling at her anymore, why the constant beeping of the machine had turned into one long annoying sound.

They wouldn't tell her the truth. They'd tell her that her sister was sleeping, that she went to college, went on vacation. I wondered if one day she'd know the truth, if they'd tell her that her sister was a straight A student, that she was tall. How she used to be tan, and her teeth were naturally straight.

I pondered the thought of them describing to her why she wasn't there, if I'd be a lie or if they'd really truly tell her that the reason her sister wasn't there was because when her sister was 14 she was diagnosed with lung cancer. How she fought it for three years only to loose the battle one late night in July. A week before her 18th birthday. How she would have been free to the world, but still trapped behind her dying lungs.

Adenocarcinoma, that's what it was. The reason behind the tears. Whether it skipped generations or just randomly chose her, it struck for no apparent reason. Now here we all were, 3 short but undeniably long years later facing the inevitable. The day we had hoped would never come was here, and it was irreversible.

Now before we get confused, this her we're talking about is me. I'm Grace, and I'm 17 for one more week. I was diagnosed with lung cancer when I was 14, and I died on a late rainy night in July. To say the least, I was a little bit confused, but I knew one thing for sure, the pale thin body laying in the dull colored bed was no longer mine. I glanced into the mirror to my right and studied my new reflection, or simply put, one I hadn't seen in a while. I ran my tanned hand through my thick brown hair and sighed surveying the room one last time.

"I love you guys." I whispered, hoping someone would hear me.

Never once in my life had I ever felt so guilty.

So selfish.

So sorry.

So powerless.

So lonely.

Jack's sniffles quieted down and Sam's body shook a tad less, but the tears fell just as steady. I watched as a few doctors walked in slowly. They spoke in hushed voices, 'God, why?' 'So sad.' 'Why do these things happen?'.

They unhooked a few cords and drew out a few needles before sliding the bed out of the room. When the door closed the already loud sobs grew louder. It seemed as though it had finally set in.

I was gone,

but then again I was right here, like a stranger silently watching my own body being rolled away.

I shook my head swiftly, my eyes brimming with forbidden tears.

Wake me up, I must be, must be dreaming.

But it wasn't.

This was my dream wasn't it? To die and go to heaven?

But was this heaven? This sick display of my grieving family members, filled with pain that I single handedly caused?

Against my wishes, I didn't wake up, I just continued to stand in the corner of the room, facing my greatest fear.

Eventually, my dad stood up and Sam followed suit, then Jack, then Annie. The only one left sitting was my mother. My fathers deep voice boomed in the small, silent room,

"Hannah, honey we can't stay here all night, let's go home."

She sat still, as though no words had been spoken. Just as I was about to believe it she responded,

"There is no home without her John."

I knew by 'her' she was referring to me, and I knew my dad understood it as well as he sighed, rubbing his temples slowly,

"I know that, but it's a lot more cozy than the room she died in. Look, I know it's hard, just take your time, we'll be in the car."

He made his way for the door, followed by my three siblings. I thought she'd stay, but something in my dad's voice always caught you, and right on cue it seemed to snag her. She stood up warily and followed them out, leaving me alone in the ugly room. There was no way I was staying here much longer, but the matter of the fact was, where would I go?

I had the liberty to go anywhere I pleased, but I couldn't imagine a place I wished to be more in that moment than with my family.

An incredibly ironic and unfortunate plea.

A-N:

Yo bros. There's a picture of Grace to the side. Tell me what you think?