Nine

She cries, as do we all. Finding out that you have only months to live is evidently harder than finding out a sibling or a daughter has only months to live.

She hides it well now. Her sadness is overwhelmed by an amazing lust for life. She will squeeze it until she has milked it for all she can. She has a healthy attitude, they say. The doctors.

Nobody sleeps the night we find out. Nobody admits it. We all go to bed as if this is normal. But we all know that everybody else is lying awake, thinking the exact same thoughts. I feel bad for not being there with her, to talk, to reassure.

Have I failed as a brother, as a friend? Brothers are always there. Friends are always there. But now, all I can think about are the times that we've argued.

I guess we weren't... Aren't the brilliant combination I had hoped. Negativity floods my mind, and she seems to notice.

She hates upsetting people. Which is one of the many reasons that she's sad this is happening. But it's not the primary reason. Obviously.

'Get a grip!' Her eyes seem to speak to me. 'It's not as if this is you!'

She's right. Stop crying, because you'll only make things harder.

She hates herself for making everybody feel this way. But she doesn't have the time to forgive herself. We have to do it for her.

The End

14 comments about this story Feed