When The Sun Came Up, You Were Gone

The Man She Loved The Most(1)

The harsh jolt from my body woke me from my nightmare. My forehead was covered in sweat, my stomach aching from clenching it and my jaw felt like it was about to fall off. My eyes scanned the room, dropping when I realized where I was. My heartrate decreased, finally having myself become relieved, since it felt like I was about to have it come ripping out. I'm used to having some fucked up dreams; dreams about me dying or being trapped in a box as dirt is thrown on top of me. The first one was when I was first diagnosed and as time passes they get more and more intense. I think it's because the more time goes by, the less time I have. Any day, any moment, I could be lying on a floor, watching the light around me dim. To most individuals, dying terrifies them. They can't imagine what could happen next; hell or heaven? But I'm very different. I'm not afraid of dying, it's not like I can live forever.

I just don't want to die.

I want to see my sister get married in person. See my spouse go down the aisle. Watch my kids grow up. Get old and die with my love. I can't do these things if I die.

Tossing off my sheets, I placed my legs on the side of the bed, having my bare feet linger above the floor. Is it clean? I don't remember Alison asking me to stay out of my room for a bit to clean, but she could have done it while I was in the hospital. Did she? Instead of assuming, I grabbed my bagged socks and slipped them on quickly. Feeling anxious, I went downstairs, three in the morning, and just walked around. Going around the couch three times, walking through the kitchen ten times, going up and down the stairs more than six times. Walking made me think of something else or just told my mind to shut the fuck up. I tend to prefer the second one, but the first one tends to happen the most.

Doctor appointments, blood testing, physical therapy, blah, blah, and blah! Can I just stay home, lay in my bed, and eat junk food? Oh wait, I can't! It would be great if I could just watch t.v. and eat, sweets of course! Some cake or even better.... ICE CREAM! It's been so long since I had a rocky road ice cream and I am about to lose it if I don't get it soon!!!! The marshmallows have to be perfect or else everything is just stupid and useless!

"Noah?" My wonderous mind came to a halt as my mom came in, holdings about three binders in her arms and a worried expression on her face. She placed her things down on the sanitized table, wiping her hands clean and slipping on gloves, "I came right after a meeting. How was therapy? How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," I watched her pull up a chair, fixing her hair cap, "how was your meeting?"

"Nothing too rigorous," she joked, "no pain?" I shook my head, watching her observe me. She takes what I say with a grain of salt now, since I tend to lie about how I feel. When she comes to her own conclusion, she relaxes, her eyes told me she was smiling, "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I was able to have your dad come visit next week," she was chipper, like this was the best news she's gotten all week... well I bet it is. "He'll stay for a week and spend it with you," she was practically jumping from her seat, "and he said if you want anything, he'll be happy to bring it."

My dad and mom aren't divorced, but separated when I was fourteen. They were constantly fighting over me, blaming each other for why their son got sick. Soon the fighting bleed over to Kendra and she was subjected to yelling. My father was the one to pull the plug. He said that my mom and him being married would just worsen the situation, so he asked for a divorce. My mom, still in love with him, was completely against it, so instead of getting a divorce, they decided that living separately was the right answer. My dad lives about four hours away, busy with his law work. I live with my mom because the hospital that can help me the most is by her. I stopped seeing my dad two years ago because his work got hectic. He used to call me at least once a week, but of course life got in the way.

I don't hate him, I just don't know how to talk to him anymore.

"Noah?" I came back, seeing her face become even more worrisome.

"I'm fine, I was just... just thinking about how long it's been.... I'm excited," she waited to see if I was actually lying, but I was always a good liar. She nodded, coming closer to me to tell me more about him.

I wonder... if I never got sick... would my mom still be with the man she loved the most?