If I Die Young by Talia Jager

Author:Talia Jager
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Talia Jager
Published: 2013-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

With the machine breathing for me, I was able to rest easier. But on top of being exhausted and weak, now I couldn’t talk or move around freely and I hated that. I just wanted to feel normal. I wondered if I ever would again.

As I floated between sleep and consciousness, I heard bits and pieces of different discussions. “Her kidneys are starting to shut down.”

“How do we stop that?”

“Medication and dialysis.

Another time, I heard, “Her status is at 1A now.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“No. Her only hope is a new heart.”

Sometimes I’d hear Mom singing what sounded like lullabies to me. They were soothing and I liked them. Sometimes I could feel Lindsay in the room. She was often quiet, but she would hold my hand or stroke my hair. Sometimes I’d hear my parents talking to each other or the doctors. Remy would talk to me as she took care of me. Knowing I couldn’t talk back, she didn’t ask questions. She’d talk about the TV shows or music we both liked.

I didn’t usually try to communicate. Talking, writing, and even sign language were pretty much out of the question. Knowing American Sign Language, I was able to fingerspell something if I really needed to. It just took so much energy I hated to bother.

As death seemed imminent, I started thinking more and more about it, especially what I would want. If I died now, what kind of service would I like? My mind wandered and tried to imagine what it might look like.

I could picture an elegant, dark wood coffin with pink satin inside. Lucky the bear would be in it with me. There would be a variety of music playing, not any of that awful funeral music. I pictured the spot I’d like to be buried at. Columbines would surround it, so they could decorate my grave. Unfortunately, with the tube shoved down my throat, and my energy level nil, I had no way to communicate my wishes to my parents.

Ava or Brad, who was another physical therapist, came in every day to do my exercises whether or not I was awake. They had to keep my body moving. And the nurses continued to move me from side to side.

Death was definitely hovering now. It had moved in slow, but strong, waiting for the right time to strike. Part of me wished it would hurry up. It was pointless to live this way. I knew it would be soon. There was no way to explain it; I just knew that my body couldn’t hold on much longer.

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