I’ve sort of neglected to keep on track, and it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s because I’ve been… not home to do it. So, even though I figure this would be maybe day 08 or 09 by now, I’m lallygagging and only on 06.
There was a time in my life where I was… emotionally accepting. I let people into my life easily which, now, I wouldn’t. I cried a lot more, and things upset me more. This phase stopped when I was twelve. And I think I know why.
So, when I was in grade 4, 5 and 6, my second-oldest (and… favourite) sister had a boyfriend named Jason. He was I think no more than two years older than her, but I’m not sure, since I never asked. He was honestly the perfect person for my sister. He was really, really nice, polite, fit in with my family perfectly, loved nerdy things, loved the same music as her, and I couldn’t imagine her life, or mine, without him.
Unfortunately, I had to.
When I was in grade 5, my mom told my brother and I over dinner that Jason had cancer. Or rather, he was relapsing from a previous case of it when he was a teenager. He was undergoing treatment at the cancer center in London, commuting back and forth with my sister every time he had treatment. This went on for a year or so.
Around… late October, early November of 2001, when I was in grade 6, his health went down significantly. He was admitted to the hospital in my city, and was transferred to London a few days later. My mom took a sabbatical, and spent every day with my sister and Jason in London. They would come home a few times a week, and otherwise stayed at my cousins house with her family.
On December 22nd, my dad took my older brother, older sister and I out Christmas shopping, and I picked up three stuffed animals: two matching bears, one red with white snowflakes, and one white with red snowflakes, for my sister and Jason; and a stuffed leopard, since leopard print was Jason’s favourite.
On December 23rd, my mom and sister came home, and told us that Jason had passed away that morning. I was eleven, my sister was twenty. That was possibly one of the hardest times my family ever went through.
His funeral was a really small, private affair, since he came from a very small town. Seeing him at the front of the room got to me. Seeing my sister go up with my mother for one last look before they closed the lid on the casket killed me. I spent almost the entire thing crying, and could not stop. It was like I had lost a brother.
I still own that leopard, and I keep it on my bed with me. When I go on trips, I take it with me. When I move out to live in residence at college, I’m going to have it with me. I don’t care if someone makes fun of me; they can go hide in a hole and starve.
I think about it now, and it blows my mind that at the exact same age that I’m turning now, my sister was dealing with one of the biggest things a person could ever have to go through; the person she loved most in the world was dying, and she was helpless to do anything about it but hold his hand and tell him how much she loved him.
The worst part is, I can’t even remember what he sounds like anymore. I know that he’s on one of our Christmas videos from our annual Christmas parties, but otherwise, I can’t remember anything. And I think that’s what hurts the most.
After that Christmas break, that was it. I didn’t really cry anymore. Nothing really affected me as much as it did then. I didn’t really accept people into my family as well as I used to - I’m still really hesitant to be around my sister’s boyfriend, and there’s a growing list of things I don’t like about him.
I’m fine at making friends, but I’m not very good with finding a boyfriend, since, like I’ve explained, I’m pretty closed up when it comes to things like that; letting someone get that close to me is something I’m just not really accustomed to anymore.
Cancer is a disgusting disease. I want Jason and my uncle Gilbert back. I want the years it took out of my mother back. And I want it gone before I have to waste my time dealing with it when I’m older.
(Do people even read long posts like this?)