In case you wonder if I'm talking about reality, I am. This is a true story.
When I was young, I cared. I cared about her so much. She would be kind to me always, only putting limits in some places to the things I would ask for. She'd buy my food and make sure I got to school on time. She cared. But when she was smoking, she didn't care. She didn't care who inhaled the secondhand. She didn't care that it was killing her, or at least she didn't care at the time. I tried to get her to care for years, I did everything I could. She never listened. I hate talking to people who just won't head my warnings. I obviously did care enough to warn you, to try to make you stop. To take you down the path you deserved to be in that moment and not the path you later on deserved. I suppose nothing I ever did was good enough, valid enough, to make her quit. So I stopped caring too, but I still knew what was coming. I've prepared myself for years, and when the disease seized her, I wasn't surprised. I had told her about this, but she didn't believe me. She didn't care. So that's why I had stopped. That's what addiction does to you. It's an aching inside your bones, an extreme desire of wanting something like a cell phone or a guy, but much worse. That's what it was like for her. I understand it being hard, but it isn't impossible. So the disease came and so did the wake up call. She never touched the death stick again because they told her if she ever had she would die. I've never known if she was afraid of death, I never knew how she felt about it. She never said. I was just delighted when she quit, though I was surprised it took this tragedy to get her to. I can only imagine how fun it was, which was not a tiny bit. I saw her every day, pained, but it was justifiable because she had put herself in that predicament. So I just watched, and while I thought that it was horrible, I was only remotely sorry for her. She had done it, and it was in her hands to get out of it. That isn't an easy thing to fight through, but only the real fighters could do it. I saw already that she wasn't a fighter. She complained all the time, she was never happy. She never got out to do the things she wanted. I didn't even know if she wanted to go out and do things. So months past, and I thought she was getting better. They all did. She had seemed more upbeat and she could walk around frantically like she always had. But then it got worse again this past week, and tonight was the end. Some thoughts I had were horrible. The last word I said to her was "Hi."
And now she's gone. Tonight was her last night.
The last time anyone will see her is in a coffin. I don't know how to feel about it. It is horrible, I didn't want it to happen like this. We all die eventually, and tonight, it ended for her. Our last few years together weren't the greatest for we hadn't the same relationship we did when I was a child, but I did still care some. I did. I won't miss her bitching, but I'll miss her kind heart. The kind heart I knew as a child.
Good night.