I want to do all I can. But fear keeps me frozen in this pseudo-denial.
I'm going to write. I don't know why, really. I don't really have much of a talent for writing, and I don't really have a story that's unlike another. But I'm going to do this anyway. I don't know if I'll continue this. I don't know if I'll go in order. I'm just going to dive into something.
It was winter. I should have known that things were going to take a crazy spin, for they always do in the gray winters at school.
First winter, I received news that a teacher of mine, from high school, had passed away. I lost it, not knowing what to do or think. I hadn't been on wicked close terms with her, but she was such a lovely woman, so young, so joyous... She always was smiling, and she made the mornings bright. I don't know anyone that ever thought a bad thought about her. Her hair and skin was pale and soft, and, if you didn't know any better, you probably would have sworn she was, indeed, an angel sent to Earth. Maybe she was, and maybe that is why she was taken away from us.
Second winter, for an unknown reason, I became severely depressed. I cannot remember if I got any bad news then, or if anything bad really happened, but the depression was enough to wipe out the happiness that winter. It followed what seemed to be an odd pattern that could form. I didn't think much of it, just a funny coincidence.
Third winter. This was when it hit. This was the storm of them all. I remember odd things happening in the fall. But they never really came together in our minds until appointments with doctors and such. I never discussed this with anyone because of fear and denial. I didn't want to have to face it, just as I still do not want to face it. I kept to myself; it was better that way.
I was in a night class, Introduction to GLBT Studies. Funny how it was an introduction, yet no actual GLBT Studies class was offered. I was awaiting a phone call, for she had gone to the hospital for surgery hours ago. It wasn't supposed to take this long. I was worried, but had a feeling that I was just being paranoid. In a way, I was just paranoid. No one died. It was alright.
But, in another way, I was right. It wasn't just a surgery. It was serious.
The phone call came while I was listening to my professor lecture. I loved that class. I didn't want to be rude and keep my phone on, but this was too important. I kept it on vibrate, in my pocket. As people usually go out now and then to use the restroom, I slid out silently to pick up the call. Dad spoke to me. I don't remember the conversation fully, but I can remember the fear. I can remember how calm he sounded. As if it was matter-of-fact, just some procedure thing in life. I guess it was better that way, because someone needed to be strong. Because, despite my rough exterior, I'm brittle as thin glass and can shatter very easily.
Dad told me that the surgery took long, and that the things they were investigating were... He never said the word. Or maybe he did, and my mind refuses to recall it. All I remember is sitting on the blue carpet in the hall, a few yards from the door, back against the wall, legs out in front of me. Sitting there, phone pressed to ear, heart heavy and afraid. And I cried. I cried.
I waited a while before returning to class. I checked in the bathroom to see if my eyes looked alright, hoping they didn't show sign of tears. I looked alright. I returned to class.
On a break, I asked my professor what would happen during the second half of class. He told me something that said to me that I should stay. It was hard to keep my voice from breaking when I spoke to him, and I tried my best to keep composure as if nothing was wrong. I stayed in class and finished out the night. I don't remember much else.
One thing I do remember was receiving an e-mail.
From: *********** ********
Sent: Thu 12/18 9:35 PM
To: ***** ********
Subject: ok?
*****,
Are you ok? I am afraid that when you came up to ask me a question, you were upset and I was not helpful. Were you were offended by something I said or something that occurred in class? I hope not but let me know if there is anything I can do.
Thanks,
***********
The e-mail touched my heart. I semi-explained the situation and thanked him for his concern.
Christmas was rough that year. In a way, it was one of our best ones, because it was full of so much love. The same with New Year's. To me, the holiday season was painful but full of hope. We didn't mind spending our days in the hospital. And she was happy to come home in time for the New Year. It made it special, that December 31st. We surrounded a hospital bed that was put in our home, and cheers-ed to the New Year. We had such hope.
We still do have hope. I am sad to report that my hope, my heart, is jaded. It tries so hard, but it runs away a lot. Whenever it overhears something medical, it hides in its shell.
It's hard to sit on the couch anymore. Every small thing that comes up, any little pain she gets, scares the shit out of me. Today, I rested my head on a pillow next to her. She petted my hair lightly. I kept my eyes closed, hoping the tears wouldn't come out. They did. I kept my eyes closed and hoped she didn't see. I know I should speak to her, but the idea of bringing all my fears onto the table scares me, for I fear that she will become even more afraid, more so than she already is. I don't want to worry her. I cry by myself instead, and I try to avoid it at all costs. Distractions. Denial. Anything.
Even now, as I write this, I feel hot tears building up, that I am pushing away. They're not spilling. It's okay. My throat feels like it's choking a little. But it's subsiding. Just push it away, I tell myself. Just write this and let it go. I know it's all a lie, a gray lie, like the skies during all those winters. But it's what keeps me going, I guess. Just as the winters come and go, so do these little lies. We just have to wait for Spring to come.
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