Please Stay

Untitled part

       My parents begged and pleaded. They tried heavily to persuade my decision because the thought of losing their little girl at such a young age was too much to handle. Even when we first got my diagnosis my parents felt it necessary to hold each minute with tenderness and care, frightened that at any second, I may leave them too soon. Their tears ran down their faces like water flows down mountainsides. The painful thoughts of 'take me not her' became a familiar face. The agonizing silence filled the room to the very top. The clock ticked and time seemed to slow. The click of a pen echoed then scratching on paper soon followed. With heavy hearts and fearful glances from all those unlucky enough to be in the room, the decision was final. With the chemotherapy failing and timing running out, maybe this might work?

       I still remember being a little girl. I was playful and filled with joy. My smiles would warm even the coldest of hearts. I remember playing with my father at the playground, the warm sun tanned our skin a soft brown. "Daddy, again! Again!" I'd excitedly yell right after my father would run around with me in his arms up in the sky. The wind would blow through my hair and I felt like a bird who had just learned how to fly. When there were gusts of wind it was even more exciting. My father would run just a bit faster then we'd crash into the ground, though he'd just drop me then catch me closer to the ground. Life was lively and fun around my father. My mother however was just a tad different.

      "Sweetie don't do that you'll get sick." Her stern voice still boomed through my head. Each step toward the swing set was a simple plea for death in her eyes. In her presence, I had to be the girl playing with dolls who'd grow up to be a trophy wife. I didn't want that, so fights were common even as a child. With my mother, I can only recall one enjoyable activity, knitting. I may have gotten teased but it was relaxing and repetitive, something I needed as I got more sick. My mother showed me how to make little stuffed animals and hats. I loved using vibrant colors and my mother didn't mind, since I was a child.

    "I made Davie a hat," I handed the rainbow compacted into a hat to my parents, "Can you give it to him?" My brother, Davie, was just two years younger than me. Although we had our normal sibling fights, we were very close. Being in the hospital tore him apart. He would always call or text to check up on me or send little presents. We loved to race each other. Since I was older I would win often but as time progressed that changed, he started to become much faster while I started to barely walk. He proudly boasts about his older sister to his teammates, saying I was faster than a lightning bolt. I don't think I could ask for a better brother.

       "Of course sweetie," My mother held the hat and smiled. It felt cold and foreign but I followed along giving in to her narrative. She stuffed the hat into her purse which held my past. She often held pictures and small animals I made. I had always assumed it was to remember me before I passed. "We have to go, David's meet is almost over." She looked over to my father, seemingly telling him she wanted to leave. She grabbed her things and gave me a hug, a one-armed hug from someone whose soul had just left them after what had happened in this room.

       "Goodbye darling, I'll have Dave call you," his words fell loosely out of his mouth. He held me, not wanting to let go, and for good reason. He fought ferociously with his tears and won this time though the war was to be fought later. He kissed my cheek and smiled with the same coldness as my mother.

       They left and my thoughts slowed. When will they start?

       Minutes passed and a nurse came to my room, the liquid filled my bloodstreams and my eyelids slowly rested. When will they? When will?

       Oh no.