Death looked more appealing each time I thought about it. The feeling of nothingness was definitely better than staring at the faces of my parents each day knowing there was nothing they could do to make me better other than to wait on the doctors and pray for a miracle. I hated them the moment I found out about my condition. Their little mistake was going to cost my life and I wanted them to feel how much pain they had put me through. They weren’t thinking of who their decision might affect. They thought only about themselves.
The crisis was getting more frequent and I felt the end was near. The people on white came in and went out as they pleased. I wondered if they always came to check if I was still alive. Unfortunately, I was. I thought of different ways to end the pain. I even tried poisoning my food but I was found a little bit too early passes out on my bed with my head hanging dangerously low to the floor. At least, the janitor understood my desperation.
They all flooded my room the next day, screaming and asking me why I did it. I found my mother’s tears amusing as she leaned into her husband for support. I got angry and jealous. There was no one who could share the pain with me. I poured out venoms on them, taking out every ounce of my anger. I wanted them to stop coming for visits as it only angered me more. The doctors had said it wasn’t good for my health.
A little girl of about twelve walked into my room the next day. I wanted no one around me but she looked too cute and innocent to be sent away. I wasn’t a monster. She smiled at me and called me Angel. I didn’t ask how she got to know my name. I couldn’t bring myself to. She tried talking to me but gave up soon after optioning to staring outside my window after getting no response from me. Some minutes later, she came back to me saying it was okay to get angry, to cry and to want death. I was left alone with my thoughts, so surprised that she wasn’t scolding me like everyone had done.
She returned very early the next day and held my hands in prayer. Her voice sounded so comforting that I didn’t mind her going on and on, thanking a God I had also come to hate. She left again, telling me she had to go to school. The hate in my heart which had seemed to disappear with her presence reared its head again. I was supposed to be in school too. She had left a book on bed. I had planned on not reading it but seeing as I had nothing else to do, I picked up the book.
The book was centered on love with it’s many flaws. I was intrigued and impatiently waited for her to come back again so I could ask questions. She told me love wasn’t perfect and that it doesn’t stop mistakes from happening, no matter how ugly those mistakes might look. She also explained that healing and repairs took place with love. I stared at her as she spoke, amazed at the joy and love radiating from her. That night, I decided to forgive my parents. I knew they loved me and didn’t plan for this to happen. It did though and I was starting to accept my imminent passing away. This time with love around me.
She was in my room the next day, praying with me and commenting on the beauty of my smile. I laughed with her and opened up about how I felt inside. I was mesmerized at how she took everything in without a flinch.
“You don’t have to die, you know.” She started. “There are too many things in life to live for. You wanting death only paints you as selfish to those who you are meant to help.”
I pondered on her words as she left, promising to come back the next day. And she did.
We spoke about my dream of becoming a pilot and she said I would make a fine one. She talked about people who lived with sickle cell anemia, going after their dreams. I was motivated and soon enough, the desire to live came rushing to me.
My parents and doctors noticed the change in me but I decided not to tell them about the girl. I wasn’t going to share her with anyone and I didn’t think she would have loved all the attention. She rarely spoke about herself. She never failed to see me each morning and I always looked forward to seeing her.
I waited for her to show up but she didn’t. I was worried but thought it might have been possible she was caught up with school work. Later that evening, a doctor strolled into my room.
“Your friend is gone! She had just a month longer to live. Her cancer had eaten too deep into her.”
Tears found their way down my face as I read the little note the doctor handed to me.
“If tomorrow never comes, I’m happy I spent my yesterday with you.”
The note was dated two weeks back.