I was fine. I was telling my mother how beautiful her dress was. I was looking at her hands, with chipped nail polish on her nails. She had been rejecting her looks. She always believed that no matter what, looking good should at least be second priority. I guess, when you had a dying son, that did not apply.
She was forcing a smile, while my dad was outside, crying. How ironic. He was the one who used to tell me that men should be strong for their wives. I would have scoffed if I had the energy. I would have asked what other lies my dad had told me before. But I didn’t, because I was clinging to whatever hope I had of going to heaven.
After I had accepted death, I also accepted the possibilities of heaven and hell. I had to cling on to something. I had to at least have some kind of hope about the afterlife.
I had been asleep for a while and when I opened my eyes I saw my mother, with her head bowed, praying. She was holding on to dad’s hand and he was holding on to my girlfriend’s. One of mom’s hand was on my stomach and I held it.
But then the world seemed to go black. Before that I heard the machine start to loudly beep and I could faintly hear the voices of everyone panicking.
I couldn’t feel anymore. I could only see darkness… No. White. It was white that I was seeing.