Things Unsaid

I'm Okay, Really

The next day I awoke in my own room, in my own bed, with absolutely no memory whatsoever on how I even got there. Sunlight shone through my windows. My phone on my nightstand read nine o'clock am. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. My Dad walked in with a cup of coffee in my favorite mug and a journal.

"Good morning, Angie! Have you been up for a while?"

I shook my head. "Just awoke now."

He gave me the coffee. It had a hint of chocolate in it just the way I liked my coffee to be.

"I don't know what you're going through, and I know I should probably help, but I really just don't know how. Just know though that I am here for you. Your mother and myself are always on your side about things and if there is any way I can help you get through this, I am here to see to it. You know that, right?"

With a slight smile, I nodded.

"I got this for you before we left the park. The morning before breakfast and anybody else was awake yet. It's not much of a sueveneer, and I wasn't sure if you would pick it yourself, but maybe you could write down your feelings and how you feel about everything here."

The notebook had three birds on the front and a feather. There was one word written on it; hope. The background had a faint blue, pink, and purple background. It was truly beautiful. A single tear fell down my face.

"Dad, it's beautiful. Thank you."

He watched me as I looked through the blank pages. Never before have I really considered myself to be a writer, but every time I wrote a poem or something for school, my Dad was always really in awe at the "beauty of my words". This book was an opportunity for me to let out my feelings in a way that suddenly brought itself to be quite perfect. Maybe writing was the answer. Perhaps, I could find a way to scribe down my thoughts and feelings. I gave him a great big hug.

"What would you like for breakfast?" He asked.

Personally, there was no appetite for anything, but I had a pretty good idea of what I usually always enjoy.

"French toast sounds amazing."

He smiled. I smiled. This was a moment to cherish dearly. As I watched Dad smile and walk out of my room, casually remembering to close the door for me, I knew that everything was going to be okay. It had to be, right? Plus, what exactly was the alternative? Point of the matter is that I have a loving family who want to be open about my cancer, plus a drop dead gorgeous boyfriend who understands exactly what I'm going through because he's going through it too. I'm not alone, in fact, i'm quite far from it. Just knowing that makes me feel like one of the happiest people alive. The sound of birds chirped outside of my window as I hopped out of bed and sat on my window seat, outlooking the backyard and surrounding forest. Taking out a pen and clicking it open, I turned to the first page of my new journal. There was a bird and a faint writing of hope in the bottom right hand corner. Usually, I would be at a total loss of words. A new journal is quite intimidating in fact. What will be written? How can those pages be filled? Diary entries? Poetry? Short stories? Lists? Random words and doodles of hearts, swirls, sunshine, feathers and yin-yang symbols? The possibilities lied infinite as my pen slowly made it's way to the page. I let my mind and all of it's thoughts go.

I'm okay, really.

The first words spilled out. Not even knowing where the sentence was going to take me, I let myself wander on the page. My mind controlled the pen, and my deepest emotions let out the words.

A bracelet, a romance, a word. My life has been forever changed from the moment I was diagnosed. Some for the better, and some for the worse. What am I to do? My life ahead of me, yet, the road blockage of a lifetime as I sit and stew until the invettable. I await death as I try to live, but what is living anyways? Maybe one day again I will sleep through the night and maybe one day I won't fear death as my enemy. Nonetheless it makes no difference now. My only option is to fight for my life. Maybe destiny and fate depends on my choices. I can either give up or keep fighting. The choice is simple. Fight. Fight for my family, my love, those around us, and my own life. I'm okay, really.

Before I knew it, my Dad was calling everybody down for breakfast as the aroma of french toast and scrambled eggs filled the air. Putting down my journal, I rushed downstairs in my favorite pair of slippers. Reawakened with life and energy, I was ready.

After all, the best is yet to come.