Before You Leave Tomorrow | Shawn Mendes ✔️

1.3 With

HAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY SHAWN

With every tear I wipe away, comes one breathe from Cory. I wish this was the case, the real case. I would cry all the time if it meant he could stay alive. It would never work, but it would at least keep him alive longer.

There had been close calls like this one before, within a week Cory would be running down the street, hands in the air, laughing and playing with his friends. This time, didn't seem so promising.

It didn't feel like Cory was leaving, he was going to be in this hospital until he was gone. He wasn't going to run outside, throw is hands in the air, or play with his friends. Cory wasn't going to laugh again, smile again, be awake again.

The doctors hadn't spoken these words, but I felt it. I knew it was over, he was tired and he was done fighting, there was nothing left.
There was nothing left.
Nothing left.

Tubes
A breathing tube, an IV, A tube that has liquids, or is that the IV?
I count tubes, not sure if all of them are connect to my brother or not, but there is a lot going on.

I overheard my parents demanding a feeding tube, but the doctor refused, saying it wouldn't help the situation in anyway.

I know what my parents were really asking. They want him to be in a coma, they want him to be getting food, breathing. They don't want to accept what's actually happening. Cory isn't in a coma, he's dying.

Shawn sits right next to me; I sit right next to Cory. My parents outside with the doctors, and more family on the way, because they know too, they know that they need to come say their goodbyes.

For. One. Last. Time

I knew the doctors knew what was going to happen, they were hinting at it, but wouldn't attack the whole picture.

They were the ones to let family know the situation and instruct them to come. They won't put him on a feeding tube. They hardly check on him, unlike before when they we checking on him every hour or so.

I have learned to pay attention to detail. At first I thought it was because of my photography, but no.

It's for my brother.
It's for times like this.
When details are needed most.

"He could just bruise easily though?" My mom asked

"Yes, he could. It would explain the amount of bruising, but not why it hasn't gone away. We will run a few more tests." The Doctor Spoke

"Alright."

"These things may not even be connected, but we will figure it out with a few tests." She tried to reassure us.

"What do you mean?" My dad asked

"Well, the bruising and the throwing up could be two different things. Maybe he just bruises easily and maybe it's the same bruising staying, but just new ones that are similar. The throwing up could point to other things, but I can't say for sure without the tests."

"Thank you so much, for helping our little boy." My mother smiled

"Of course."

I wonder if that same doctor would want to be thanked, you know after she realized it was cancer. Perhaps after Cory died.

I knew it wasn't her fault, but I couldn't help but want to blame her. What would being a doctor be like? Contently having people blaming you, they are just in need of blame. It's the only thing some people can control.

I don't think I could do it. Telling them that their family member was going to die, or was dying. Tell them their daughter or son didn't make it through the surgery.