And Everything.
They told me it wouldn’t hurt.
They were right.
I’m not sure if it was the drugs or the simple fact that I was so used to the pain, but I didn’t feel a thing when I died.
Well, not physically anyway, but I can’t even describe how screwed up it was when my daughter held my hand and I couldn’t even squeeze hers back.
I asked my wife not to let her see me like this, but she always had a mind of her own.
God I hope she’s going to be alright.
I know she will be. I set her up. I made sure that I got that insurance.
When I started to cough up blood I got that insurance.
Paid out the ass for it.
But I was young and, as far as they knew, healthy.
Keeping that smile on my face as he asked me questions nearly killed me right there.
Christ I never laughed so hard as when I got back to my truck.
A dead guy needs to get his jollies somewhere.
I nearly blew the thing when he asked me if there was a history of severe illness in my family.
Told him that my great uncle died from cancer, but he smoked.
That could be true.
Damned if I know.
That’s what made the question so funny, I told a little lie to hide a big truth.
Now, I never smoked a day in my life.
I sure as hell wouldn’t start when my kid was born.
But I still died from cancer. How wrong is that?
God I hope she’ll be alright. I hope they both come out of this alright.
I don’t remember much of my childhood, not from me dying, but because most of my life was a blur.
I was born thirty-two years ago in the middle of August, hot as hell.
My dad liked to beat me and my mom liked to drink. But that wasn’t until I could walk.
I’m sure there were a few days before that where I was happy.
But my Childhood was one shitty memory after another.
When I was sixteen I broke my father’s jaw and ran away from home, it was never much of a home to begin with, but I ran away from it all the same.
I drifted for a while, managed to get a GED.
About seven years later I met my wife, she was gorgeous.
I had been working construction for a while. I was good with my hands.
I found cheap rent near a college, it was pretty nice for a while, but the kids kept throwing parties.
Of course I went to them. Wasn’t invited, but I brought beer and didn’t start shit, so they liked me well enough.
Met her at a party this guy was throwing near the house I was renting.
Jack. Mack. Mark. Something with a ‘k’ sound in it. Nice guy.
I helped her when the cops showed up and broke up the shindig, she was only nineteen, shouldn’t have been drinking.
Oh well, it worked out for me.
We ended up walking around town for a while before we went back to my place.
Goddamn she was gorgeous.
We dated while she went to school.
She graduated with a degree in music theory and a minor in Rock and Roll history.
Didn’t know there was that much history to Rock.
But that paper they gave her said there was.
Who am I to argue?
Things happened, nothing of any real note, but one day she comes home from the record store she was working at (what a way to use a diploma…) and tells me she’s pregnant.
I guess she knew for a few days. Didn’t want to tell me, we were just barely getting by as it was.
But goddamn it, it made me happy.
Happier than I think I’ve ever been.
So we got married.
Didn’t want a little bastard on our hands, did we?
It was a small wedding, her parents were dead and mine were trash so it was basically the few friends we had managed to find together.
Still, it was nice.
How couldn’t it be? I married the woman of my dreams.
Nine months later she’s born. My little girl.
Who would have thought I’d be able to feel like this over something that was so small and scrunched up looking…but I did.
We struggled for a while, but things were good. I was happy.
We moved to Arizona when my wife was given a chance to manage a new store her bosses were opening.
And it wasn’t like I was doing anything important at my job.
We said goodbye to the few people we knew and left.
Four years later I started to cough up blood.
First time I thought it was a fluke.
Second time I told myself not to worry.
Third time I doubled over in pain and threw up. There was a lot of blood.
That’s when I got the life insurance.
I didn’t tell my wife. I didn’t want her to worry.
I gave it a few months and went to the doctor.
I was real coy. Told him that I was having stomach pains and problems swallowing.
He told me I had cancer.
At least that’s how I remember it, there were probably a few tests in between those two events, but it start to become a blur when you’re smacked in the face with the fact you’re not going to live to see thirty-five.
Hell, he was surprised I’d lasted this long.
I didn’t know what ‘terminal’ meant.
Thought that was a type of cancer.
Turns out it means ‘you’re dead, but haven’t fallen over yet.’
It was another two months before I told her. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
But when she found me lying on the bathroom floor clutching my stomach and soaking in a pool of my own blood and shit I couldn’t exactly hide it anymore.
She took me to the hospital.
I probably should have gone sooner, but I figured that dead was dead. But I wasn’t going to pay some prick doctor’s student loans.
We had health insurance through her job. But it was crap.
She wouldn’t hear of me not getting the chemo, though.
When my daughter turned five, we had this huge party, all her little friends were there.
She was happy.
We had cake and ice cream and played those stupid games you play at a kid’s party.
God I hope she’ll be alright…
It was funny, she was already reading like she was in high school.
She started to read about cancer.
I didn’t want her to, but the wife said it was a good coping mechanism.
I thought it was morbid.
So I gave her this book I liked, I never read much but my teachers always said I had promise.
She loved the book.
Tale of Two Cities.
I kind of doubted that she understood most of it, but she talked like she did. Told me she liked how Sydney Carton was symbolic of Jesus Christ and he died for their sins.
Holy crap my kid’s smart.
She’s got promise.
And she won’t end up like her father, she’ll go to college.
I made sure of that.
I spent her sixth birthday in the hospital, I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t swallow.
So I’m hooked up to all these machines as she blows out her candle.
My wife found her this little cupcake.
I nearly cried.
What kind of birthday was that? A cupcake.
But she said it was OK. She told me that she understood why daddy needed to be there and that she wasn’t angry.
Goddamn she has a good heart…I hope she’ll be alright.
I was released a few days later. We went out and had a real dinner, a nice one.
Five weeks after that I’m back in the hospital for the last time and I’m dying.
They visited me every day. I told them not to. I told them to go home, relax.
I told them that I’d be fine and out of here in a few days.
I knew I wouldn’t. But what am I supposed to say?
‘Well, I’m dead, get on with your lives?’
There’s got to be a little hope in their lives, right?
The last few hours are the worst. I told her not to let our little girl in to see me like this.
I told my wife, I told the nurses, I told the doctors.
But they all ignored me.
Maybe it’s good they did.
I don’t know.
But the last thing I see as I die is my little kid, staring down at me. She’s crying and holding my hand and I can’t even squeeze back.
I tell myself that she’d be fine. That I did what I could to make sure of that.
I got her the money. Set it up with a lawyer that some of it’d be put away for college.
I made sure she’d get the chances I didn’t.
I did what I could. I really did.
At least she knew me, right? That’s what matters.
She knew her dad.
She knew I was a good guy.
She knew that I loved her.
She knew me. And her mother’ll tell her stories.
That’s what matters.
She’ll be alright.
Won’t she?
God…I hope she’ll be alright.
-End
