Pain Brings Healing

Pain first, healing second.

I began to chew my lip while tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn't ready for this. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Our lives shouldn't have been like this.

My voice was shaking and I trembled, "No, I'm not ready to say goodbye."

I put his hand in mine. I wasn't ready to move on, but I couldn't let him suffer any longer. That was selfish and cruel. I had to let him go.

"Doctor," I called into the dense room.

A nurse walked into the tiny room and I could feel the intensity of sadness. Not only mine, but his.

"I'm ready to let go," I lied in between sobs.

My heart wrenched and I felt sick to my stomach as I took my last look at him. It should've been me instead of him. The nurse unplugged his life support. It was over. That was it. I wept with sorrow. I despise hospitals.

A light knock came from the other side of my shut door. I didn't want to answer it. I didn't want to do anything. I was too comfortable in my bed. The one place I tried not to think about him.

The door opened and my dad said, "Hey, honey. I just thought I'd check on you. It's been a few days now. You can't live in your room forever, you know."

I turn to my side. I didn't want to face my father. I felt too alone and scared. I didn't deserve anyone's kindness. I should've stopped what happened to him.

"I know you're not sleeping. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

I felt he was invading my privacy. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to die. I wanted to take his place. I turned to face my father while tears stung at my eyes.

"I'm fine. I just want to be alone."

My father sighed, "If you're fine, then will you come downstairs? Your step-mom and I miss your beautiful face. It's not fun when our only child has locked themselves in their bedroom."

I became angry and offended by his words. How dare he call me its child. That awful woman would never replace my mother and never would be seen as my mom.

"That atrocious thing will never be my mother," I said coldly and with spite.

His eyes became dejected. He shook his head at me. I didn't regret my words nor was I sorry for them. They were one of the most real words I have said or thought in the last few days.

"Don't call her an it. She is never going to replace your mom. But we both equally wish you would join us downstairs. I don't want to see you suffer over," he hesitated. "him."

"You have no right saying that! He was the only thing I had! He was the only one other than mom who cared!" I said with a raised voice, feeling insulted. "JUST GET OUT!"

He left just as quickly as he had come.I knew my dad cared, but it didn't always feel that way. He just didn't get it. No one did. Now, I was regretting allowing him in. Nobody understood how I was feeling or even tried to.

I woke up from a long, deep sleep. It was refreshing, but not enough to fill the void. I decided to try writing. I heard it was a good thing to do when trying to consume time.

I wrote, "Dear me, it isn't your fault. You know that. You know the truth. And of course, it still hurts. You loved him. He was your half brother. He was the closest person to you. You told him everything. And I know it wasn't easy to watch him die, but he wouldn't want you to be sad about him. He would want you to live for him. He wouldn't want you sitting here doing nothing. He wants you to be you and live your life. He's gone. Face it. You can't change it but you can decide how it'll affect you as you move forward. Who knows? Maybe someone else will be put into your life and change your life just as he did, but that won't happen if you're locked in your room."