Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush or the Nickelback song "If Today Was Your Last Day."

Prologue

Each day's a gift and not a given right- Nickelback

"I'm sorry Mr. Mitchell, but I'm afraid it's bad news."

The air was knocked out of me as soon as my doctor uttered those words. I felt my heart stop momentarily, only to start beating again slowly, its thumps in perfect sync with the blood that pounded in my ears. I felt my mind numb as I tried to listen to the doctor's prognosis. He explained the illness in great detail, but I inevitably knew what three words would follow.

"It is incurable."

Who knew three little words could carry such power, such magnitude? I sat there, staring at him in hopes he'd crack a smile and shout, "Just kidding! Everything looks great, Mr. Mitchell."

Instead, I saw sadness in his eyes as he said, "You can sit here for a few minutes, if you'd like. I'll be sure to let the nurses know so they won't disturb you. Take all the time you need to process it." He gave me a melancholy smile before he departed.

How could this happen to me? I just finished my freshmen year of college, top of my class. I was nineteen years old for God's sake! Nineteen freaking years old. And yet, here I was, sitting in this doctor's office "processing" my mortality. Once he told me what I had, I knew I was a goner. I wrote my final report about it this past semester in one of my pre med classes. I knew everything there was to know about it. It's a long, painful illness whose existence I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. While I was writing my report, I often wondered how I would break the bad news to my patients. But I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore, do I? At the rate I'm going, I won't make it to my twentieth birthday.

I felt my stomach knot. How am I going to tell everybody? I had to tell my best friends; they're the closest thing to family I have. They've been there with me through the darkest times. Like when my mother died when I was nine. Or the day my dad went crazy and shot himself when I was fourteen.

My dad. He's been locked up in St. Mary'sPsychiatric Ward for the past five years. To everyone's dismay, I've gone and visited him once a week ever since they put him in there. Half the time, he doesn't even know who I am. I usually just sit there while he screams my mother's name over and over again. The times he's cognizant, he watches me, apologizing profusely for what he's done.

I learned a long time ago to stop the tears that would flow after hearing those words. I learned a long time ago to force away the nightmares that would come, his voice echoing inside my head, saying her name. I learned a long time ago to accept that this was my reality, and it would be for the rest of my life.

I stood up, and left the room that changed my life forever. Walking down the corridor, I ignored the nurses who clucked sympathetically when they saw me. The warm June breeze greeted me as I sauntered over to my car. Putting my keys in the ignition, I knew exactly what I had to do.

I went to see my father.

So there's the prologue. This story literally popped into my mind while I was watching the Nickelback music video. If you haven't heard the song, I HIGHLY recommend you listen to it. The lyrics are absolutely stunning.