My names Alex and two months ago I was told something no teenager should have to hear, I was told I was dying.
I remember it as if it were yesterday, the doctor came in to the room with a grave look on his face, a look that can only mean the worst. He explained that I had leukemia and it was terminal. Then he told me that they predicted that I only had six months to live. It hit me like a freight train. Six months? SIX MONTHS?! Half a year? How could this be, I'm 17 for Gods sake! I didn't know what to do, I just looked over to my Mom, she had this stunned look on her face and then, all of a sudden she started crying and came over and hugged me. I remember the car ride home, we didn't say anything all the way. What was there to say? I was 17 years old an just told I was going to die! What could she say? What could I say? Over the next few days people started to find out, my friends stopped by but they were just like my Mom and Dad, they didn't know what to say, some of them sat and reminisced, I liked that, it made me feel like I had led a interesting and good life. Some talked about things we'd have to do again someday, and then quickly stopped talking and looked scared. But I knew they didn't mean anything by it, they just forgot, forgot that I was dying, I wish I could forget.
As time went by things really began to sink in for me, I was dying. I started to think of all the things I would never do again. I started to wonder if my actions were the last time I would do something, the last time I would watch a certain movie or hear a certain song.
I began thinking about death a lot. I would wonder what it would be like, would it hurt? Would I feel at peace or would I feel like I didn't do enough. I had never questioned my faith before but now I found myself doing so everyday. How could I believe there was a God out there? What kind of God would let someone with they're whole life ahead of them die? What kind of Lord would let me die? I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Even though I questioned my faith, I still prayed, prayed for belief, for reassurance of an afterlife. I believed there was a heaven, I had to, it was the only way I could keep going. I thought heaven would be a happy place where people could relive the happiest moments of there life. I hoped and prayed for that.
Sometimes I would think about my old life, my life before I found out I was dying, then I would get so angry at myself. So angry at myself for all things I had taken for granted. A spring day, playing catch, hanging out with friends. I would lie awake hating myself wishing, praying I could go back and make myself respect all the little things, make myself love every moment not let anything pass by. But I knew I couldn't, couldn't go back, couldn't fix everything.
I also became angry at everyone else, especially people my age. I'd be so angry, why me? What did I do wrong? Why God? WHY ME? I'm 17! I should be going to movies, hanging out with friends, going to Prom, I should be worrying about exams, school, asking a girl out. I shouldn't be DYING! Not NOW! I'm supposed to have my whole life ahead of me, I should go to college, get married have kids not just DIE!
It was too much to bare.
As the months passed I learned to accept things, accept that I was going to die, that soon it would be all over and over time and after much thought I even came to peace with things.
The doctors say I don't have much time now, they told my parents that they should keep me comfortable they said that it will be any day. I'm ready. The way I look at it, deaths the next great adventure, a new world just waiting to be explored, another chapter in an amazing book just waiting to be read, a road less traveled. Well my bags are packed and I'm ready to go.