The Bucket List

the last thing

I've been in a hospice for four days now. Moving is hard, breathing is hard, and thinking is hard. Because every time I think, I think about how close I am to dying. Nobody has told me yet. Nobody has come up to me and told me when I'm going to die. This makes it much worse. I forgot what it felt like to not know when you're going to die. I used to think I liked it better that way but it turns out, I don't. I would have liked it better, had I not been so sick. But now that I am sick, too sick, I want to know when it's going to happen, to prepare myself. 

I don't know what will happen. Will it just overtake me? Will it be slow? Will it hurt? Will I ever get to see my mom? My dad? Riley? 

I can't help but think about Riley. What had happened to her. She didn't realise that she was about to die until moments before it happened. It watched it happen. I felt it. And i don't want that to happen to me.

I don't want any of this. I don't want to be here anymore. I'm in a place full of sick people, most of which are old, and I don't like wondering which one of us is going to die first. 

Everyone is friendly, of course, but there's only so much you can do to help someone in their last moments. 

I wonder if every meal I eat will be my last. I wonder if every word I say will be my last. I wonder if every breath I take will be my last. 

I'm scared that someone is going to leave me, and then I'll die, with nobody there. Nobody to say goodbye to. 

Kevin walks in. 

"How are you feeling?" I don't say anything because I know if I say something, I'll cry, and when I cry, it hurts Kevin. He hasn't cried yet, but I know he wants to. "Do you want me to send in a counsellor?" I nod, and he goes out to get a therapist for me. 

Isabel walks in and says hello. 

"Hi, Isabel." My voice is shaky. She's been in here a lot. She's just a couple years older than I am, so shes really easy to talk to. 

"What do you want to talk about." She says, pulling up a chair. 

"Do you know what's going to happen to me?" I ask. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I just don't want it to overtake me. I don't to fight it."

"Morgan, right now, you're fighting it. It just doesn't feel like it yet. You've been fighting it since you started. A lot of people just don't know it until they can't fight it anymore."

"But, when do I stop trying to fight it? If I don't want it to hurt?"

"I don't think it's going to hurt as much as you think it will. It will be peaceful, and you will not be alone. I promise."

"I'm scared." 

"I know." She says, putting a hand on my knee. "It's a hard truth to face. But I'm listening to you. And I'm always here."

"Okay, thank you, Isabel." 

"No problem. Stay strong, Morgan." She leaves the room and Kevin comes back in. 

"Now can I ask you how you're feeling?" He asks. 

"Can you ask me something else?"

He sits in the same chair that Isabel was just in. 

"Are you hungry?" 

"No."

"Are you thirsty?"

"No."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

"Take a nap." He says, softly, tucking a few stray hairs behind my ear.