Thursdays were the good days.
Days not in the hospital were the great days.
Thursdays not in the hospital were the best days.
She didn't breathe. She just coughed. And i used to think it wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair because she was the loved one and I was the normal one.
The one that wasn't exciting, wasn't brilliant. She was special. And all because she was the one that could die any day. I was the one that would live forever and still be there once she was gone. The gold would be gone and all that would be left is the plastic. Who wanted plastic when the world was already overflowing with it.
Nurses were my friends but they didn't have time for me either. Only her. If I coughed i was exiled to the hall. The painfully bright hall filled with different tones and beeps. Shoes squeeked against the floor. It was easiest to concentrate on the floor. I could find patterns there. Make images and stories to go with those images. I would sit there for a long time out in the hall. No one would come check on me except for dad when he left the room to talk to a docter. I was the ignored.
They missed out on me.
I missed out on the soccer tryouts, the art classes, the friends, the ADD diagnosis, school.
But I couldn't say anything. That would be a bad sister. That would be a bad daughter. I would never speak because that's who I was. I did the moves and the road trips without complaint. And that was okay because I loved her and she would be okay because we depended on eachother.
It went on that way for a long time. A perfect routine in a not so perfect situation. And it became okay to live that way.
I finally got a break. I got to go off on my own for a summer. I got to be my own person, seperate from the rest. But then I got a chance at something equally as fascinating and tempting. The first time I was allowed to be in the hospital room with her. Something I wanted for a very long time.
I went into that room. No one had explained what was actually happening. But everyone was especially quiet. I was the only person in the room with her. When I tried to talk though she did not respond. I tried to wake her up and she refused. There was a tube coming out of her mouth. I was scared but I didn't move or get help or cry or scream. I sat with her and rubbed her arm as the doctor took the tube out, and talked until she wasn't there anymore. I talked about Thursdays spent not in the hospital. Those were the best days.
Created: Oct 29, 2010hellograce Document Media