I locked myself in my room for a long time after Augustus's death. I ate even more infrequently than I had done previously and read Augustus's letter over and over. My mother – try as she might – could not get me to return to support group. To be perfectly honest, going to support group was worse than having cancer. My father cried. A lot. I over heard him and mom talking when they thought I was asleep one night. My dad thought they were losing me. ''Of course you are,'' I thought to myself. ''I'm dying. ''
I have, of course, been to support group since Gus's death. Once. And it was dreadful. First of all they added Gus's name to the bottom of the list after everyone has long since stopped listening and I had to leave because I cried so much and I can no longer make eye contact with Isaac because, well, because of his lack of eyes (I realise now that eyes are a fundamental feature of 'eye contact').
Truthfully, I miss Augustus. I miss him a lot. Everyday worse than the last. I call his cell phone everyday- just to hear his voice. But today when I called a robotic voice told me that the number was no longer in service and it seems that I can no longer hear his voice.
Today I decided it was about time to get back into normal life (although I don't know how 'widowed girlfriend with terminal cancer' can define normal). My mother offered to take me to funky bones but I declined- that was a place for me and Gus and I feel like I would be cheating on him if I were to go with anyone else (can you cheat on someone with your mom?). So she took me to Gus's grave. It's still the newest grave in that part of the graveyard and the French flag that I stuck into the soil is still there, although it hangs limply and discoloured having been assaulted by wind and rain. I read the gravestone: 'Augustus Waters – Who was loved deeply.' I think about how that isn't really what he wanted. He wanted to be loved widely, to be remembered and leave his mark on the world. Like a soldier or politician, but Augustus, the marks humans leave are too often scars – you said so yourself – so maybe you should be glad that you managed to minimise the casualties.
It's been exactly six months today that Augustus Waters died. And, oddly, it's the happiest I've felt since, I think I'm finally feeling more like the hazel I was before his death. I even told mom that I would go to support group this week and she pinched herself. ''mom, what are you doing?'' I asked. ''Making sure I'm not dreaming'' she laughed and then hugged me. ''I'm glad you're feeling better Hazel. We missed you.''