I’ve never thought about when I would die. It didn’t seem like something to worry about. I always thought it would occur painlessly in my sleep, after I’d lived a long and prosperous life. What I never considered was that I would die today. Now. Here.
Here in this hospital bed, motionless as my father clutches my hand as a lifeline. Here, in this sterile room with the scent of chemicals and despair heavy in the air. Here, at the young age of 19, the mere beginning of my story. I want to reach out for him and pull myself into his safe arms. Arms that protected me from monsters under my bed, that held me when I was sad and launched me into the air so that I could fly. And yet I can’t. I’m trapped in my own body, my own cage of flesh and bone. I want to move my hands, but they refuse to budge. I want to call out to my sister “I’m here!” but as the caged bird sings, I remain a prisoner.
This prison. Am I supposed to stay like this forever? Is this all part of some greater plan? Does my existence contribute anything to this world? This world of hate, fear and disease? This world of love, joy and warmth?
Life is a labyrinth of happiness and peril. One wrong move and my world of comfort and warmth is thrust from my grasp. I’m scared that I’ll make the wrong decision, and that I’ll regret it for the rest of eternity. One path. That is winding yet clear, presents ups and downs, victories and defeats, pleasure and pain. Although the journey remains unclear, the only certain thing I have is myself. It is the road many (including I) have travelled and from that, I have a sense of familiarity. I may not know the exact course it will take, but I know which direction I’m headed.
The other is a road clouded in darkness and fog. One rogue tree root and I will stumble into the abyss. I am a weary traveler and I ache for peace, for rest, something only accessible to me through death. But with death comes fear, the fear of nothingness. The fear of proof that our existence is nothing but accidental and irrelevant. That we are nothing but dust in the winds of time. Fear that is innate in all human beings, we fear the unknown and crave purpose. Both paths, life and death, present an unknown. And for that my stomach churns.
*Steady hospital machine beeping*
I know this decision should be easy, the answer I’m expected to choose is dancing across my vision, taunting me. I should just say I want to live and then be thrust back into the blazing world. Back with Dad and Rose. The rays of light amongst my darkness. I love them with my entire being, they light the fire in my soul and inspire me to walk the path of life. But I know in my heart that it’s not that simple, I must choose a path. It may be selfish, but I yearn for the release of death. It’s inevitable anyway; it teaches us to value the life we are given. But what if death is better than life? What if God is actually real and heaven is waiting? Eternal blessings and love, who wouldn’t want to go? And yet here I am, motionless and forced to make the biggest decision of my life. If God was real, then why would he hand me this ultimatum? This ultimatum constructed of sweet cyanide. Maybe it’s all part of some big plan but that thought only shrinks my cage further. I am a bird that yearns to spread its wings and take flight yet here I am. This ultimatum is a sword hanging above my head and fire beneath my bound feet. If I choose wrong, I am either impaled by the cold sword of death or consumed by the blazing flames of life. Dad and Rose would want me to live, we didn’t even get to say goodbye. I can’t do that to them again. Not like Mum. She didn’t have a choice.
Mum wouldn’t want me to accept my cage. She’d want me to follow my ambitions, to chase my green light into oblivion. But what are dreams if we don’t have anyone to share them with? There is a hole in my heart that only a mother can fill. I’m incomplete without her. Her fiery scarlet hair, her familiar flowery smell, her melodious laugh. But no matter how much I miss her, I know that if I was to leave, then I would be leaving Dad and Rose. I would be losing a father and a sister in payment for a mother. Would I be willing to pay that price? Mum would want me to live, that I know.
If only she were here with me, then she could tell me what I know I need to hear. I can feel the sterile sheets beneath me, my dad’s tears falling on my bare arm. The arm that I shield with long shirts, the arm that displays pure hate and self-loathing. If I was to live, I would have to explain it to him. I would have to explain the nights all those years ago I spent standing in the tiled bathroom, staring at my soulless exterior through the dirty mirror. Looking at the shell of the woman I used to be. I would have to explain those nights where I let my wrists be an outlet for all my pain, and where I would display my agony. I would have to explain the anti-depressant pills in my purse. I would have to shed my armour and explain.
But his hand is warm, that warmth flooding my body with heavenly fire. The hands that protected me all those years ago. His love is the fuel for my existence, his warmth sets my skin ablaze and ignites the sky of my mind a vivid scarlet. I know in my heart that he will understand, that he will heal me. That we will be a family once more. Death is a road that comes with a sweet chill, but life is a road lined with blazing fire that reaches deep into your very soul. It would be difficult, but not many can say they have come back from the dead. So, I will choose the road less taken. And that will make all the difference.
The end.
