An Accidental Goodbye

I never wanted to go up and say my goodbyes. It felt too final. I wasn't ready. As the rest of the family crowded around the room saying their goodbyes, I stood in the corner facing the back wall. The backpack I'd packed with my schoolwork and things to do while I was originally supposed to "wait" at the hospital during a Saturday visit was still on my back. I kept it on the entire time I stood, not even noticing the weight of it. There was a newer, heavier weight, one that simply could not be removed and placed aside.

I had a continuous roll of thoughts going through my head. Words were being spoken behind me but I wasn't actually listening. I could hear voices. My uncle. My aunt. My grandfather. My grandmother. But my thoughts weaved in-between the words they were speaking. The last words they wanted to leave her with.

And then I remember my aunt coming up behind me. She asked me, "Are you ready to go now?" I nodded my head thinking, Yes, I want to go home. Get me out of here. Let's go, right now. I need to get away from this place, get away from what's happening. 

And then she started removing the straps of my backpack and pulling them off my shoulders. Wait, what's going on? I thought we were leaving. I wanted to go home. No, I'm not ready to go, this is not what I expected when I nodded my head. I turned around and faced the bed. People started leaving the room. They let me speak to her alone. Good, I needed that. That's the only way I would have.

I sat next to the bed and faced her lifeless body. I wasn't sure where to start. She and I didn't talk. We didn't share things. I didn't know how to do this, how to have a conversation and share things with her. I'd spent my life learning how to hide things from her so she wouldn't find out. Now I had to share them? I didn't understand. 

I started somewhere. Boys. I told her about the guy I liked (and she probably knew I did). I told her about the guy who liked me. I told her about how hard feelings were and asked how to deal with them and how I wished she could have helped me in this regard. I must've told her a bunch of other stuff I can't even remember because I'm pretty sure I talked for nearly an hour. 

It didn't feel like an hour. An hour wasn't even enough.

I knew at some point I had to stop. I had to stop talking, and then that was it. That was the last time I would ever speak words to her, face to face. Before I left, I gave her a hug. It felt weird, hugging someone who wasn't going to hug you back, who wasn't even looking at you, who felt colder than I expected even though I knew it was already happening.

I left the room and found the rest of my family. As we regrouped together, I remember someone saying to me, " She looks like she's smiling, whatever you said to her." 

I'd never need to hide things from her again.