one last summer

prologue

I'm going to die soon.

Now that's not something you hear everyday.

When someone is told that they're about to die, you would expect them to have more of a reaction than just 'oh'. Well you expected wrong, because that's exactly what I said. Even after I processed the words, I still didn't have much of a reaction. I guess being diagnosed with this bullshit heart condition young prepares you for the possibility of death.

It doesn't scare me. I had already come to terms with my fate. It would just be sooner than I had hoped.

Something even worse than finding out your dying? Telling your loved ones about it.

My parents took the news the worst. Their youngest child and only daughter would be dead before she even turned 18. I wish I didn't have to fight this battle, just so I could spare my parents from the pain. If I could go back in time to stop myself from being born, I would. No doubt about it. I would do anything for their happiness, even if I had to sacrifice my own.

My brother, my big brother, the one who put a plaster on my knee when I fell off my skateboard in 2nd grade, the one who made fun of my fringe in 6th and the one I saw cry for the first time that day. Ever since then, he's treated me with extra care and I hate it. Even before this stupid heart condition, my brother was overly protective, to the point of making me feel like a chore. I mean, I was his only sibling, a younger sister at that, and I guess he felt like it was his job to protect me, but it made me feel like a burden. I hated feeling like a burden. But now I'm treated like some sort of fragile doll who isn't capable of anything. Don't get me wrong, I love the princess treatment, but I am fully capable of going across the road to the corner shop to grab a coke and some sweets.

My family was the easiest to tell, seeing as they were there when I got the news, but telling my best friend was heart breaking. Holding her weeping figure in my arms made me realise that family didn't always have to be blood. No matter how much I loved my parents and my brother, nothing could compare to the bond with my best friend. No, saying best friend wouldn't enough. She's my blood, my sister, my soulmate. And leaving her would be one of the hardest thing of all.

She already knew that I wouldn't live to see 20 but still stuck by me nevertheless. What's even better is that she treated me like she did before. No tiptoeing like there was broken glass scattered everywhere, just our normal relationship and, for that, I was grateful.

Unlike other patients, I only take medication for my illness. A heart transplant was an option earlier on but there was a low chance I would wake up from the anaesthesia so I decided against it. I would be a fool to take the chance for someone to live a long, fulfilling life away for me only to extend my inevitable fate for another few months. And even then, I wasn't even guaranteed a few minutes, let alone a few months.

To be honest, living kinda sucks sometimes, and, at times, I think I would be better off dead, but then I remember all the things I wouldn't have experienced if I hadn't been alive, all the memories I would have missed out on.

This may sound a bit sad but, before I got diagnosed, school was my only escape really, and was the place where I had made some of the best memories. If things had gone to planned, I wouldn't have been here to see them.

I love my parents with my whole, entire heart but, sometimes, they get a bit too much, you know. They always seem to find a problem with anything I do, whether it be the way I act, or the way I dress, or even if my room is slightly messy but, to their standards, looks like a pig's sty, which is funny seeing as my brother lives in a constant state of clutter, but they have no problem with that, of course. The joys of being a girl in a Bengali household.