What Makes Her Memorable

WEDNESDAY

My mom used to tell me back when I was younger that there were only four things that we lived for. Four things that made us do more than have the will to simply survive, and four things that all the way down to the center of the core, give us purpose; romance, love, poetry and beauty.

Most of my life I was so convinced she was spewing nonsense that I never thought up the need to question her. I thought I understood it as much as I could, and that she was telling another secretly tragic, but lighthearted story that the lullabies she sang to me did. I was certain that it was another one of those things -- something that I might not fully wrap my head around, but that will click in the long run, and so, in the mean time, I didn't think much about it, assuming that one day I'd get the whole story, the entire meaning, and what was being said between the lines.

But years passed, and it didn't register like I expected to. I hardly thought about it at all, and when I did, it only bothered me for a couple minutes since I told myself that that was because she was telling me a group of words that only made sense to her. Words that connected in with a backstory of hers that I didn't experience, and that she didn't go into. Words that just as well be a whole different language I wasn't the least bit familiar with. One I heard not once before.

I let it be that way for a while. I decided that if she didn't want to get into the detail of what she meant, then she didn't have to, and that I wasn't going to be the one to make a big deal about it, but you know how I am with these things. You know how I can't stand not knowing when I have partial information. It made me go insane. I had to speak up. I had to ask.

When I finally got myself to ask her about it, the first few seconds were a pure silence. Looking down at my palms, I was initially ticked off that she was in that mood she gets into every once in a while where she doesn't hear a word I say, but when I found eye contact with her before I repeated the question, I was face to face with a twinkling-eye kind of smile that stopped me. She worked so hard in her lifetime and had her hardships, so you can imagine when I saw that, it felt brand new. It was a good thing to see, and it only took one thing.

The entire time, she'd been waiting for me to ask. She was waiting for me to burst. For some reason, she had faith that I would, even if she wan't prodding me with it every single day. I guess mothers really know best. They know us when we think that they don't know us at all. At least my mom surely did.

She had a little too much fun with the suspense of it, though. Maybe she wanted to see me ask one more time so that she can take in the sight and scrapbook it into the front of her mind. I don't know, but whatever her reasoning is, I gave into what she wanted. I didn't have the patience to wait that much longer. I was waiting for so long that I didn't take note of the desperation I've had pretty much since I learned I was alive.

"Aren't romance and love pretty much the same thing?" I had asked, to move things along. This scoff came out of her and she looked at me with her signature 'tsk tsk tsk'. She stopped whatever she was busy with, made her way over to me, and she took a seat to my right. The gesture said 'this is important, it can't wait' and so I gave her my fully devoted attention, on edge for what she could possibly have to say about it. What could be so big about this? How far off could I be?

A million questions passed through my mind, yet each and every one of them could be answered with one reply. "You can say romance and love go hand and hand, but they aren't the same. Not even a little bit. There can be love without romance, romance without love, and one of them is definitely much more significant than the other."

She did that on purpose. She knew I hated cliffhangers. Torturing me like that was funny to her, and the truth is, I'm going to miss that. I shrugged so desperately to get her to carry on, and it's the very thing that made her lull for longer. I make it far too easy for people to get to me, don't I?

Which one is? Which one is? Which one is?

"Of course love is, silly. There will always be something nice and touching about romance. Candle-surrounded bubble baths, rose petals on the bed covers, steak dinners -- they're beautiful gestures. You could say it's connected to love, but it's not the actual feeling. You don't need any of those things to be in love, you know? You don't need romance to love someone. What you do need is to have the will to prioritize their happiness before your own."

I laughed. I guess I thought she was kidding, or maybe I was too taken aback by suddenly having this kind of deep conversation that I didn't know how to accept the information for the accuracy it held. "Okay, okay, fine. So they're different things. And you're trying to tell me these are the only things we live for? I don't believe that." I was sarcastic. Maybe I shouldn't have been, but it felt the most natural.

It seemed she expected it too. "Just meditate on it for a minute. Give it time," she challenged it. She didn't waver. She stood by everything she said. This is what people mean when they say that you can trick someone into thinking you're spitting facts if you say it with confidence. In her case, she was being real, but me as a listener? I was totally hypnotized by her points and I had to give the theory a shot. I drowned in them, immersed in it entirely all because she kept her head held high. She smirked because she saw the look on my face. "Tell me, kid. Do you live for anything else besides those things?"

I didn't have an answer for her. I wanted to, and over the years after that, I tried to find one, but guess what? I didn't keep track of how long it's been since then, not to the dot, and I still have not a single thing to make her words debatable. She was right, and when I met you, it was even more true. You're all four of those things, and it's what gave me the courage to stand, to walk, to run, to live the way that I have.

Don't believe me? I can prove it.

Let's start with the duo not everyone meets in their lifetime. Romance and love. That's exactly what you are. You sparkle these into the form of a human being by this unseen fire that lets nothing get in its way, but it only starts with me. Millions more are so-called "victims" of the domino effect that began with your energy because you're the one who loved when there wasn't any love left, and you're the one that made people feel warm when it was cold. You won over adoration out of the person that you are, and that's why people couldn't help but to love you right back. Heck, if they fought it, they'd come out of it loving you even harder.

Beauty. This is common sense. I have the entire world backing me up on this one, and you can't argue with me because it's true. This is no puzzle, my darling. It's written right in front of us, and to bring it to a higher degree, once your inner beauty captured someone, your outer beauty became a flashing eye-catching light.

And I couldn't forget poetry. You've always known exactly what to say. It's a talent of yours, in verbal and written speech that anyone would see if they took the time to listen to you. One time would probably be enough. I mean, have you heard yourself speak? Your vocabulary and your wording sounds like it came straight out of a deep novel or a collection of poems.

You had the wisdom of someone who lived such a long life at such a young age, and you pulled out of your troubles strong, and as a person who the population truthfully, no exaggeration needs to look up to if they don't want to miss out. You turned your broken and healing into splendid advice. Have you noticed how many holes you've pulled me out of? Or does it come so naturally to you without expecting in return that you didn't keep count?

Altogether, I get it. It took me a long time, but I have managed to understand what she was meaning. Since I've reached this point, it's also brought me to a new revelation. The very grief that I'm going to have to put you through against my will, is actually another expression of love, isn't it? That IQ of yours wouldn't need an explanation to know what I mean, but I want to tell you the story. I want to tell you why it is, and if it could reach you, I want it to be considered my very last words, even if they aren't.

Grief is the love that we intend to give, but that we aren't able to. It gets stuck in our throat, swells up in our eyes, puts lighting in our chest, and hollows our bones into malfunction because it gets lost, and doesn't know where to go. It's the love we've saved up overtime and that was meant to be spent on our one and only throughout our lifetime.

Aren't I right? That grief wouldn't be felt if no love was ever there?

Thank you for loving me, but I'm sorry that you love me too. I mean that in the best way.

You'd understand, wouldn't you?

THURSDAY

You're here and you're crying.

I can hear you. You really came to see me.

I knew you would.

"Hi," you say. You greet me like you usually do, as if everything as fine even though it's very much not. With your hand around my wrist, -- the most starlit I've felt in what seems like a while -- your voice is as cheery as it is on the daily, but I can tell that it's forced. You can't fool me, princess, but it's okay. I know that it's habit for you to do what you can to be the strong one, when I come through representing the weak. "The doctor said that it's possible that you're listening, so I'll take the chance. I believe that you can hear me."

Your voice is shaking. You're saying it more for yourself than you're saying it for me. If I could give you some kind of confirmation that I'm not deaf to what you say, I would, but I can't. That self-reassurance is the most you're going to be able to get access to, but don't hesitate babe. Trudge right through. Talk to me like it's a normal, sunny afternoon.

"We promised each other a while back as a joke that if we were ever in this situation we would fill each other in, remember? We had that theory that if something happened to us and we didn't know what it was, it would make it much more scary. It might make something scary that shouldn't be scary at all. In your case, love, it is kinda frightening, so brace yourself. You know that I don't back away from promises, including the ones we make kidding around, and that didn't hold much at the time."

I can sense your weight against the bed. The mattress shifts slightly to account for your shape. It feels good. Being stuck in the same position, immovable has made the curves to my body perfect, but irritating. Your voice is getting scratchier. "You're at the main city hospital, have been for the last half hour. It must feel like it's been weeks for you. When I thought I was going to give you a surprise visit, I didn't think it would be here. I was only able to get here this soon because I was already on my way but-- agh, I don't know.

"Anyway, you were out playing games and having karaoke night or whatever with your friends late into the night. Around 4 a.m., you left your bunch to use the restroom and collapsed to a sudden cardiac arrest, which is surprising for someone at your young age, the nurses say. It made quite the sound when you fell, but no one went searching for you wondering what was up because they assumed you were up to your dumb pranks. Maybe if they came for you sooner, your condition would look a little better than it does. It's sorta a 'the boy who cried wolf' situation, huh?"

You laugh, or try to. It doesn't have the impact it usually does. Your worry has skyrocketed much too high for it to. It makes my insides crumble. "The staff has tried CPR a few times, I've heard. Your ribs are cracked. That part already looks painful to me, but I can only imagine you're under a lot more pain than that. In your state, I understand that fighting is hard. You've been doing such a good job, but if it's too much on you, I don't want you to suffer. I mean, I don't want you to go. I really, really don't want you to go, but I don't want you to suffer either. You get me, don't you?"

You're giving me permission. I wouldn't tell myself this, but it's what I've been wanting to hear. Allowing me to stop the pain and to go as peacefully as possible -- that part sounds so good. It sounds like relief. It's just the sacrifice that has forbidden me it all this time. It's what I have to leave behind, but you're telling me it's okay. You're telling me that you're ready to brace yourself for how I might let you down.

"You don't have to work yourself so hard. It's okay. None of this is your fault. I promise, it's okay," you add, and you start to wave. It's not like I can see it, but I know you are. I can feel it, and the situations rains down on me heavily. It's written out more crystal clear than it's ever been. You wave like your cousin, someone I never met because she moved away when you were still a preteen. You told me that she liked to wave like a beauty pageant queen at the end of her speech as a joke at first, but eventually it became habit and she always did it. Along the way, you caught on. It's stuck ever since, despite it being so long since you've seen her.

Humans are mirrors. From here on, you're also going to cover your smile and your laugh with your hand because at some unidentified point of us hanging around each other so much, you started doing what I do. For me, it was because I was insecure about that feature, but it was the best one of yours and yet you began to hide over it because of me. It's actually quite a shame, but you adapted it naturally before I knew to stop you.

You're the bundle of joy that you are because of your cousins, your mom, your dad, your closest friends, and because of me. Each and everyone of us have influenced each other with these little pieces we don't realize we follow after. We're made up of bits of information that we barely comprehend that we store, and within the many, I am one of those things.

When I die, a part of me will continue to live with you.

Maybe, just maybe, you'll continue to look for pieces of me in other people, so I'll take it. I'll quit fighting an unbearable fight. I'll let peace take my body instead of pushing it for a war it's struggling to take on.

Say the words, and I'll go. Say the words, and I'll be free.

"Darling. I love you, goodbye."