My name in Hebrew means grace or beauty, but I don't feel beautiful with a flock of cancer in my lungs.
When I was younger my dad used to tell me the story of the little mermaid. I felt like the princess at the end of that story where she decides to live with the prince, even though it means feeling pain for the rest of her life. A thousand needles stabbing into her feet every time she takes a step. I feel like that everytime I take a breath. A human pin cushion.
They say she suffered beautifully, and they say the same thing about me. Suffering is always beautiful unless you are the one doing it. I lay in my bed air filtering through my nostrils as steady and as consistent as rain drops.
I hold Sisyphus on my neck. His nose wet, twitching and warm. I named him Sisyphus after the man in Greek mythology. He was condemned to roll a rock up the side of a mountain for eternity. I suppose in this case it was a hamster wheel. I wondered what my parents would do with my little almond colored hamster once I was gone.
A solemn, somber silence fills my soul like music in a guitar.
I'm dying.
I'm not scared when I have this thought as you might think. It is peaceful, it is common. Death is the most treacherous of all the treacherous images.
Why do we try to sugarcoat death by saying things like "passed on" instead. When i die, I want people to say so. Blunt and to the point, I don't want them to rephrase it into a softer shape. Death is not a pillow to be molded into a different form to make it more comfortable to lay on.
"Anna, we have to go or else we are gonna have to reschedule your appointment." My mom was a stress case, she always had been. It had gotten worse since I was diagnosed with lung cancer.
I sat up, it felt uncomfortable as the air slipped out of me like it had never been there before. I stood up, suddenly feeling weak and more light headed than normal. I walked to the door, my oxygen tank, which I had named Oscar; was being dragged behind me like the burden that it was.
Everyone said that I looked just like my mom, we both had the same candy nose and chocolate eyes, but after that I couldn't see it at all. I was so much thinner than she was. When I went into the hall I found her literally tapping her foot by the door.
She didn't say anything when we saw each other, she just opened the door. I followed her out, knowing she was a little frustrated with me.
It always felt strange to go outside. It felt like coming home to a place that you grew up that you haven't been to in years, only to discover that you no longer belonged there. My skin was as pale and as cold as vanilla ice cream regardless of how much the sun beat down on it.
We both got inside the red bug that my mom had bought me when I turned 16. She drove it more than I did, I never had anywhere to go.
The world outside reflected unto the window, making a collage of trees, clouds and flowers.
My mom followed my eyes out the window, looking at me as if she had suspected that I was crying, she saw the flowers instead.
"We should plant tulips like that in our yard, wouldn't that be nice?" My mother had a borderline obsession with tulips. She always had since she got back from her trip to Amsterdam.
I nodded my head.
"You could help me plant them next year."
"If I'm going to be here." I realized that the words had come out of my mouth heavy and sharp when I saw my moms face.
"Stop it, I am not spending all of this money and taking you to all of these doctors appointments for nothing." She said.
It was silent for a moment. I'm beginning to get used to the taste of blood from biting my tongue. How dare she turn this back unto her. She never understood. She had never had to fight this illness herself.
The anger rose to the top like a boat.
"I'm trying really hard here to…"
The boat capsizes.
"No, you don't get it," I hate how I turn into a stereotypical teenager.
I can tell that she is shocked because she takes her eyes off the road to look at me, like she can't believe what I just said.
She stares at me, her mouth drops open a little.
"This isn't about…"
Suddenly everything happens all at once. The car makes a sound across the road like a chair sliding across tile. When I realize that we are crossing the rumble strip it is too late.
When the car from the opposite lane collides into ours, I realize that our lives are as insignificant as a flake of ash.
I'm not afraid of dying. I am afraid of the five seconds before. I always wondered what I would be thinking about at this part in my life. As it turns out, I was thinking about how I wanted to tell my mom sorry, but there was not time.
We are undone. We are-