What is this? What are you doing to me?
Did you give me this book for perspective?
Are you kidding. It’s late at night, without my boyfriend, and I’m up up up and miserable.
I told you I didn’t want a book about death. I didn’t want something depressing. And you give me a book about a daughter watching her mother die too young?
I don’t want to accept this. Life without you. Like the roof gone from over me.
My dad and my step mom who love me but drink too much. My grandparents who can’t keep going and hiking and biking and skiing forever.
The sobs are again like the day you told me of the leopard spotted liver.
I don’t think either of us really have any hope. We are just resigned to death. We talk about it as it is inevitable, even as others talk of recovery. Miracles exist, but I don’t think I get one. I don’t know why I don’t think I get one, but I don’t.
I wrote an email to my boyfriend, who is now four states away.
I left it on my computer.
Because it will worry him.
Subject: Without you:
I stay up too late reading books.
It’s the late where things are dark.
In the daytime, when I’m with her, I can stand it, because she is strong and happy and with me.
In the night, I just want to stop growing up. With you here, I sleep, because you sleep. I am calm because you are calm.
Without either of you it hurts really bad even though I know that somewhere inside me I have the capacity for joy that only needs my spirit to spark it.
I kind of wish benadryl still made me fall asleep. It definitely doesn’t.
I love you SO much. I love her so much. This being apart hurts.
Your monkey, who will climb mountains and swim in waves and play with kittens and smile someday soon- but not right now in the middle of the night.