I stayed in my room while my father and brother were told the news. I couldn't hear they're sobs over the blaring music in my headphones, but I knew they were there. I was numb.
When I got home, the depressing realization of my imminent death hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt as if I was getting struck by a car in the center of my chest. How could this happen? How? Why? I didn't understand and that was all I wanted. I simply wanted to know why. From then on, I would have to put my family through hell. They would worry, they would be scared. And then they would have to cope. My poor parents would have to bury their daughter and my brother would grow up without his big sister. I wouldn't be there for them.
The worst thoughts that crept into my mind were decades away. They were of the time my parents would be old, far too old to live comfortably on their own. I wouldn't be there to help my mom when she got sick. I wouldn't be there when my father broke his hip. I wouldn't be there when my brother finally met the girl of his dreams.
Of course I knew I should think positive, but I knew my chances of survival. My cancer was diagnosed was very aggressive, and it wasn't detected early. For weeks, I had known something was wrong, but it wasn't until I had a seizure that doctors were called in. Suddenly things made sense. All the headaches, all thee confusion. It had a reason.
And that reason was terrifying. Of course I knew my future, but how could I live it? I wasn't that strong. It's funny how you don't realize until the gun is pressed inside your mouth how fragile you are.
Dinner was awkward. Very awkward. My mother kept sniffling and trying to start conversation while her voice continuously broke, and my father simply didn't know what to say. Both he and my brother couldn't look at me. It felt like I had done something wrong.
My peas simply got mashed around my plate and there was little eating actually occurring. I was so nauseas I could hardly choke down a measly bite. I was worried I would throw up, and , if I did, how my mother would react. Most likely, she would have me in the emergency room within minutes.
"Kirsten?" I looked up from my mountain of mushed peas and hesitantly looked at my father. I waited for whatever question or statement he was about to make the would most likely throw my fragile mother over the edge.
"Yes?" He visually took a deep breath and started down the crumpled napkin in his hand. He cleared his throat.
"You, um, you have math test tomorrow, right?"
Of course. This was my dad. His main goal in life was to act normal even if gravity reverses and clown noses are the new jewelry. I didn't know why I expected anything different. This usually annoyed me. Avoiding problems only solves more, right? Like the time I broke my hand and he simply gave me a bag of ice. But this was what I needed. I just needed to act normal and worry about something simple, like my grades.
"Uh, yes, sir."
"Well then. You'll need to study tonight, won't you? That's your lowest class." Of course I knew he wasn't genuinely distressed over my grade point average, I had a 3.81, but it gave us a distraction. He knew my well.
My mother, however, did not. Or at least she was too distressed on her own for the both of them to ignore the obvious problem and play along.
She sat there, jaw slack, staring at her husband. She would have looked almost comical if the situation were not so gray.
"Shut your mouth, Jane. You'll catch flies," he spoke.
And with that, she fled the table.
"Excuse me," my dad mumbled as he stood up and followed my mom out of the room. Only seconds after he disappeared, I heard them fighting and I heard crying. Once again, I felt as if I was being hit by a car.
"I'm going to my room," I announced, but my brother still didn't look at me. He was younger, yes, but not too young not to understand. Micah was 14. He was in the eighth grade and was brilliant. I loved my brother with all my heart.
So I trudged up the stairs, my body feeling heavier with each step, and I crawled into bed. My pillow was already stained with mascara from my little escapade earlier, I didn't mind. It's not like I would stain it worse; all my makeup had been cried off.
Maybe I should want my family. Maybe most people in my situation would not want to be alone, yet I did. It did not matter what other people would have done, what was normal. Because it was my life that was coming to an end, I just didn't care anymore. I no longer had to do what was right. I just did what I wanted.
What I wanted to do was lay in my bed and never get up. Not in a "die in my sleep" way, but in a "I'm in a committed relationship with Netflix" kind of way.
So that's what I did.
