I sighed, a bittersweet feeling in my gut, as I watched the two boys walk up the driveway. One, was my son, with the same blond hair and blue eyes as me. The other, who despite being a year and a half older, was a bit scrawnier. He was the orphaned son of my best friend.
He'd never known his parents, his beautiful, fiery mother had died just after giving birth. His father had died a few months later. And now he was dying from the same thing that had taken his parents.
It isn't fair. He was still more interested in football than girls. He'd never given drugs or sex a second thought. Yet, his parents did, and now he was dying.
I feel a pang of anger at my best friend, and his beautiful girlfriend. They had never intended to have childeren. But then, they messed up. And couldn't bare the thought of aborting their child. Even though his life was a death sentence.
I watch the two boys. My Ryan didn't understand why the boy raised as his brother was dying. David(named by his mother) hadn't done anything. Ryan and David didn't see any difference between them. But then there were the pills, the doctors. I never chided my adopted son about college, because there were no gurantees that he would last through high school.
I never planned for his future, not because I didn't care, but because there probably was no future.