Her Secret

eight | apologies and awkward dinners

It takes more courage to live

It takes more courage to live

It takes more courage to live

More courage to live

Zach Dawson's stupid words have been running through my mind all night.

What does he know? Is he dying? Does he have to face cancer ever day? It doesn't seem like it. So how the hell did he get so wise?

Does he think you have to be cowardly to accept your fate? That knowing you're dying isn't scary? That I don't wish I had more life left to live every single day?

Because I do. I really do wish I had more life left, but I don't. And it took me some time to accept it. A long time actually.

I pushed everyone away when I heard the news, of course. And maybe if I didn't realize there was no hope for me I'd bring them back. Just to apologize. Tell them I love them, and I miss them. Because of course I do.

But I can't bring myself to do that. I can't bring myself to open up to life again, just to have it taken away.

I guess they will all be thanking Zachy when I die and get these letters I've spent all night writing. For Mom, Dad, Dylan, Zaina, Noah, and Daniel. Writing them to say I'm sorry, to say I love them, and to move on with their lives. Telling them to not dwell, and to be happy for me. Because I got to live my life surrounded by them. Surrounded by love.

The little bit I have accepted recently anyways. But before cancer, we really were the affectionate bunch. And I think without those memories, I wouldn't even be able to pretend that I'm okay.

I'm not sure why, but apart of me is tempted to write a letter to Zach too. I won't of course. But it would be nice for him to know how hard it is to die, how scary it is to die.

I do understand what he was saying.

It takes more courage to live.

It does. I know because I'm not willing to. But that doesn't mean it takes no courage to die. Because it takes a lot. Trust me.

----

By the time I got to bed it was around 4am, and I had to wake up at 8am for my medicine. Leaving me to run on four hours of sleep, and somehow try to apologize to my family.

They're the only ones still around. They continue to put up with me and my moodiness, and I should try to remember that more often.

I should let them be there with me when they want to be, not for me, not really anyways. But for them. It probably gives them a sense of control. If they can take me to all my appointments, watch me take my medicine, keep me as healthy as possible, then I'll be okay.

Of course it doesn't work like that. But I don't have the heart to tell them.

Which is why while we're all sitting awkwardly at breakfast, I find myself clearing my throat to gain their attention.

"I'm uh, really sorry guys. About last night. I know you're all trying to help, it just gets kind of hard to remember that. I've been a little overwhelmed I guess, and forgot about how much you all do for me. So, I'm sorry."

My mom, of course starts to cry. Leaving my dad to console her, while they say they forgive me. They then go to the kitchen to clean up, leaving me with Dylan.

"I really mean it Dyl, I'm sorry."

Folding his arms across his chest, he looks at me with those twin eyes. The eyes that tell me he knows exactly what I'm thinking.