lying to live, living to die

we had all grown used to seeing me in a hospital bed but this time, i don’t know if i’ll pull through. my mother is a brilliant woman. strong and tenacious. i can feel her anxiety building as my blood pressure lowers each hour she is silently screaming i learned that from her. her tears are guarded by the pressure of being my mom. but there’s just so much and i cannot carry it all, not alone. i try to breathe a wheeze escapes me i choke on my own air supply, the thing that gives me life is now killing me. my mother lets a sob escape, but quickly falls back into her stoic facade. i see the bright blue of my father’s jacket he walks past the window of my room for the first time. when the doorknob squeaks and the room is exposed, my father smiles at me. a fake smile, a pained smile, but a smile nonetheless. i have never seen my father cry. he is not emotionless, he is not stoic. it just seems as though this man was not meant to cry as if this life was built for his smiles only. but he walks in, and nearly falls to the ground. the beeping of the heart monitor almost drowns out the sounds of his cries as he sits in a puddle of his own tears. almost. my body is connected to machines like a droid, waiting for myself to power off. i don’t feel afraid, but i begin to regret. maybe i wanted to live, maybe i’m not ready to die. maybe i’m just too terrified of the sounds of my father’s sobs. i inhale. i exhale. one breath at a time. when i cry until i have no tears left, i use my free arm to sit myself up. i feel like a fish out of water, my body is not mine. but i sit up, and for the first time in days, i speak. my voice is hoarse, the air is tense. i press the button to summon the nurse. a young woman in scrubs rushes in. “Please,” I say, “I want to live.” i did it. my father is no longer crying. my mother softens her face. if only my words that made the whole floor light up, were not a life.