Timeless

1

"She's dead." Those two words still run cold through my blood even two weeks later. That's all I think about, those words have consumed my every thought. I've been seeing a therapist, though. No one forced me, I choose to see Mr. Deal. I've been seeing him for a week now and we've gotten nowhere.

"She's dead, Nathan." He keeps repeating those words as if they'll magically make things better. Well, they don't. They make me feel ever more guilty for not seeing the signs. The doctors have told her family and myself that hardly anyone catches the signs before it's too late. Is that supposed to make us feel any better? Telling us that her death was inevitable? I think that's supposed to make the doctors and nurses feel better. It reassures them that they've done everything, but it doesn't help the family or friends at all.

That's what I tell Mr. Deal every time he says those words. He says I'm avoiding the subject, but really I'm just trying to get it through his head that nothing can make this better. Why am I going to a therapist when I know it won't help? I feel like I need someone to talk to that hasn't been affected by this terrible sadness. And so I've decided to start going twice a week.

The first time I went he told me to start writing in a journal. He said it didn't matter what I wrote or even if I date any of my writings, so here I am, writing about anything and everything that comes to my mind. I feel like I should have some type of introduction or something in case anyone actually reads these or for when I'm ninety years old and living in an assisted living home with nothing better to read.

So my name is Nathan Frederickson. I am twenty years old and just began my second year of college in the fall (it is December now). The reason I'm going to see a therapist and writing this is because of girlfriend of what would have been six years in January has died of brain cancer. She is also twenty and in college, but I am a few months older and we go to different colleges. Oh. Past tense...

She was an extraordinary person. I loved and still love her dearly. She was everything that I heard from her friends and family at her wake and funeral and more. Her death was out of the blue. It's as if the grim reaper forgot about her until she only had a couple months left. That's when the symptoms started. But she had moved eight hours away from our hometown and I had moved, too, but I was still six hours from her. I knew she was hurting. I told her to see a doctor, but she never went until it was too late. I should have went to visit her to make her go, but I was too caught up in my studies like a good college student. I've never hated myself more than in this moment.

I feel like I should explain more about what happened to her. The symptoms and everything, but this is emotionally draining. Maybe I'll write more tomorrow. I don't believe in writing dates in this journal. Mainly because if I finish writing this, her stories will stop, and to me they're timeless. She's timeless. So this journal shall be, too.