Status: In progress, loves.
Don't Waste Your Time on Me.
From the get-go I knew this was hard to hold.
Jack loved working at a hospice for children. While most of the people he had to deal with every day thought he was crazy for liking his job at a place where innocent children were dying on a daily basis, Jack was absolutely content with it. He loved being able to make the last days of his young patients as enjoyable as possible. There was nothing that made Jack happier than all those kids fooling around with him and smiling like they had not a single worry in the world. He know that they were here for a reason, that no matter how cruel it sounded every single one of them would eventually pass away but Jack tried not to think about that. He tried to cherish the good times his job as a carer brought him while always keeping in mind that he wasn't supposed to get too attached to any of his patients.
Jack's family and friends had supported him from the very first day, something he was extremely grateful for. There were times when he wondered if he'd still be mentally stable if it wasn't for those who held him through every single one of his breakdowns in the past three years. Because despite the good feeling he got from working with and taking care of the children on his floor as well as being the one they trusted completely, Jack still would burst out in tears almost every night as soon as he closed the apartment door behind him. Over the years he had learned to accept that he can't always be the strong guy, that it was okay to cry together with those whom he took care of.
It was his job to make sure the children knew that there was no need for them to be afraid of the death, that dying was inevitable. But it was also his job to comfort them, to answer their questions even if he didn't have an answer to all of them. But Jack tried, he always tried his best to give everyone a good feeling which he usually did pretty well.
Today was one of those days were new patients would move in for a few days. It wasn't unusual that children and teenagers would come and spend their time here after being diagnosed with a terminal illness. In fact they spent around 28 days a year in the comfortingly blue and green painted rooms of Manhattan's hospice for children. Most of them were used to it by now, they had accepted their fate long ago and were ready for it to happen.
Jack had always admired the toughness of these kids, had always been amazed by the way they carried themselves and how they never failed to make clear that even though they were dying, they didn't need any sympathy.
And while the majority of Jack's patients was okay with being here, with being ill, there were still those who weren't. One of them was Alex Gaskarth.
Jack's family and friends had supported him from the very first day, something he was extremely grateful for. There were times when he wondered if he'd still be mentally stable if it wasn't for those who held him through every single one of his breakdowns in the past three years. Because despite the good feeling he got from working with and taking care of the children on his floor as well as being the one they trusted completely, Jack still would burst out in tears almost every night as soon as he closed the apartment door behind him. Over the years he had learned to accept that he can't always be the strong guy, that it was okay to cry together with those whom he took care of.
It was his job to make sure the children knew that there was no need for them to be afraid of the death, that dying was inevitable. But it was also his job to comfort them, to answer their questions even if he didn't have an answer to all of them. But Jack tried, he always tried his best to give everyone a good feeling which he usually did pretty well.
Today was one of those days were new patients would move in for a few days. It wasn't unusual that children and teenagers would come and spend their time here after being diagnosed with a terminal illness. In fact they spent around 28 days a year in the comfortingly blue and green painted rooms of Manhattan's hospice for children. Most of them were used to it by now, they had accepted their fate long ago and were ready for it to happen.
Jack had always admired the toughness of these kids, had always been amazed by the way they carried themselves and how they never failed to make clear that even though they were dying, they didn't need any sympathy.
And while the majority of Jack's patients was okay with being here, with being ill, there were still those who weren't. One of them was Alex Gaskarth.