The Wonderful Hopeless Feeling
Dying
“Water, please.” He sighed as the near silent beeps of the monitor slowed the slightest bit. It’s seemed as if they themselves were getting slightly fainter with each passing day, hour, or minute. Everyone knew that the end was soon approaching, a bit too soon in their opinion. As a dear friend passed a glass full of water to him, he tried to sit up a bit in the hospital bed. His chapped and faded lips grazed it, taking the slightest sip before using every ounce of strength and placing it on the bedside table. The bony, pale arm belonged to a man. His name was Frank. His hairless head fell back onto the pillow as he asked another of his friends for help. He needed more medication, but just couldn’t seem to find the energy to move his arm slightly to the left. It was embarrassing, degrading, even. For a man who could once leap around on a stage for two hours at a time, playing guitar all the while, to be unable to do the slightest things.
“Can you bury me in my favorite colors?” He whispered. It hurt to talk much. A close friend nodded, Gerard. A funeral was already planned out. Frank had done most of the work himself, before his chemotherapy had started. Frank Iero had pancreatic cancer, or started out having it, at least. It spread throughout his body, until the point that he no longer had cancer, but the cancer had him. An unlit cigarette was dangling from his mouth, the way it always had been when he lit them. A nurse came and adjusted his IV drip. He tried to smile at her, but his sunken eyes and ghost-like skin gave away more pain than pleasure.
“Call my family, tell them I don’t have long.” It was true. Frank Anthony Thomas Iero, aged 24, would die within the hour. A friend named Ray was holding his hand as Gerard and his brother Mikey cleared his things from the bedside tables, upon an earlier request. Among the items were a cell phone, a picture of his girlfriend, Jamia, a small red teddy bear, and a ring in a box. He would never give it to its intended owner. He knew that he would never marry. Everything else was at his old house. He hadn’t seen the outside of his hospital room in three months. Jamia and the rest of his family rushed into the small room. Two grandmothers, a grandfather, a mother, and a father. A quaint, morbidly arranged family gathering. Ray stepped aside to let Jamia’s hand slip into Frank’s one final time. Gerard placed the ring next to their intertwined fingers.
“I know we’ll never get to follow through.” Frank said, stopping to swallow. His throat was burning, his voice, raspy. “But please, Jamia, will you marry me?”
Her head nodded a yes, her eyes longing for a day that would never come. The room filled with the tears of the people dearest to him, as Frank faded from existence. His breathing got shallow as the beeping of the heart monitor slowed to a stop. One loud, constant beep reminded the world that it had lost a life that day. The last words he uttered were barely heard.
“The hardest part of this is leaving you.”
“Can you bury me in my favorite colors?” He whispered. It hurt to talk much. A close friend nodded, Gerard. A funeral was already planned out. Frank had done most of the work himself, before his chemotherapy had started. Frank Iero had pancreatic cancer, or started out having it, at least. It spread throughout his body, until the point that he no longer had cancer, but the cancer had him. An unlit cigarette was dangling from his mouth, the way it always had been when he lit them. A nurse came and adjusted his IV drip. He tried to smile at her, but his sunken eyes and ghost-like skin gave away more pain than pleasure.
“Call my family, tell them I don’t have long.” It was true. Frank Anthony Thomas Iero, aged 24, would die within the hour. A friend named Ray was holding his hand as Gerard and his brother Mikey cleared his things from the bedside tables, upon an earlier request. Among the items were a cell phone, a picture of his girlfriend, Jamia, a small red teddy bear, and a ring in a box. He would never give it to its intended owner. He knew that he would never marry. Everything else was at his old house. He hadn’t seen the outside of his hospital room in three months. Jamia and the rest of his family rushed into the small room. Two grandmothers, a grandfather, a mother, and a father. A quaint, morbidly arranged family gathering. Ray stepped aside to let Jamia’s hand slip into Frank’s one final time. Gerard placed the ring next to their intertwined fingers.
“I know we’ll never get to follow through.” Frank said, stopping to swallow. His throat was burning, his voice, raspy. “But please, Jamia, will you marry me?”
Her head nodded a yes, her eyes longing for a day that would never come. The room filled with the tears of the people dearest to him, as Frank faded from existence. His breathing got shallow as the beeping of the heart monitor slowed to a stop. One loud, constant beep reminded the world that it had lost a life that day. The last words he uttered were barely heard.
“The hardest part of this is leaving you.”