Please.

“Please. Please. Please…”

I’ve cried every night before bed for the past 7 days. I’ve cried at every sad tv series moment I’ve seen since December. Prior to this year I’d only cried at 1 song, I can’t tell you how many I’ve cried at since Christmas. I’m crying right now.

I’m scared. Scratch that. I’m terrified. The word “death” chills me to the core lately.

I go home in 5 days. My only hope is that you’re there. These nights I sit alone in my room, laying in my bed, clinging to the covers. The darkness echoes the anxiety I feel inside. The silence speaks volumes. I find myself praying to a God I don’t believe in. A God I haven’t believed in since I was about 10. Hypocritical I know. Begging, pleading that I’ll see you at least one more time.

There hasn’t been a day you haven’t crossed my mind. I’ve had this feeling in my chest for months. Every breath lingers on. I feel it. I hear my mum’s voice playing on repeat “Get it all out, you’ll feel better. Don’t keep it bottled up.” But every push is seemingly more difficult than the last. Day by day this feeling works its way lower into my abdomen. The pit of my stomach has been lined by fear for the last 6 months. Each day it grows a little bigger as I fill up with worries. Every time the name “Mum” pops up on my iPhone I have this moment. This moment of immeasurable panic. This sense of impending doom, that today’s the day she tells me the news I’ll never be ready to hear. My eyes lose focus, time seems to stop, I tune out of the world for a split second. I’d be weightless if it wasn’t for the lump in my throat, and the cartoon sized anvil in my stomach. One day that anvil will drop, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to lift it back off of the ground.

I’ve reminisced. The good times. The bad times. The really bad times. All the things I would’ve done differently, the words I said that should never have left my lips. I’m sorry. The missed opportunities to tell you “I loved you.” We talk on Skype every other day. I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the few words we get to exchange. I’m grateful for the smiles we share, even if they are fleeting. I’m grateful just to hear your voice again, although it’s bittersweet. With every passing phone call there’s a change. A little thinner, a little more tired, a little less chatty. I know you’re struggling. I know you’re in pain. I know you’re trying to put on a front for me. Nobody has to tell me these things, I can see it in your eyes. I wish it could be different. Seeing the man I grew up with disappear in front of my eyes is crushing every last part of me. You’re like a second Dad, I don’t think I’ve ever told you that – I should.

As the date gets nearer, the fear grows. The closer I am to going home, the more moments like this I have. The more I dream up the inevitable, and what it will be like. How I’ll cope, how my Mum will cope, my Nan. So far I haven’t came up with any answers. “Don’t suffer in silence.” my Mum always says… But who do you turn to when you’re faced with the inevitable? What words can anyone say to ease this racing mind? There are none. Zero.

My head hurts. My tear ducts have run dry. It’s 4:10am.

5 days, please Grump. Please be there when I get home.

x