In These Arms

It’s here. I’m leaving now. I can feel it. It’s like a book that you’ve finished that was good, but the whole story wasn’t told. It’s like the author died halfway through the book. I guess I’d be that author.

I move my fingers around, wondering if I’m still here. I flutter my eyes—oh, no. I don’t. They’re done working. It’s a lifetime vacation. A retirement.

I can still hear my parents and Liam.

I’m so tired, the breaths I take are ragged and slow. Mom’s crying. I hear nurses around; I think they’re nurses. I don’t recognize them.

Everything is slow. My heart beat has quivered and slowed, my breathing is nearly gone. But it feels alright.

I can’t talk, I can’t tell them I don’t want to be cremated. Maybe they’ll hear if I think loud enough.

Liam? I love you. Don’t think I don’t. I want you to tell everyone at school that I died skydiving. I always wanted to go skydiving.

Mom, don’t cry too much. I’ll come visit a lot, I promise. I’ll write you letters in the sand on the beach at home. Don’t forget that I love you. Tell dad he should finish that car we were building. Let him paint it black, if he wants.

See you when you visit me.