Anger

I never expected to be here.

I never asked to be the kind of saint you think I am. I never thought that your journey (or what remains of it) I would join only to have to grieve over what might become of you in the months to come. Of course, you invited me to walk with you and that's amazing. I am honoured. Why did you trust me? I can barely trust myself.

At this very moment, every part of my soul is hurting. I am angry. It's not about the decisions you make or the lifestyle you choose, vexing as it may be. Neither have you let me down as a friend. Ever.

But I am angry because I am selfish. I hate grieving. I don't want to think of living in a world where you are missing (even for a while). I know that death would mean the end of your pain. But it would also be the beginning of mine.

I am angry because you have no idea what I am going through - the daily battle that I am confronted with and have to fight. I gave you the permission to confide in me, but in doing so, I've made myself vulnerable. In other words, I wait each day for you to hurt me deeply - unwittingly. You have that much access to my heart. But I can't fall apart while you are watching me. That wouldn't do.

I am angry because you matter to me even while we've only known each other for a short period of time. I needed someone. So did you. And we bonded. If you slept the sleep, how would I forget you? How would I be able to revisit the places where you were so alive?

But I will have to accept it. I am trying to, at least. So please understand if I come across naggy or numb. I recognise that I can't change things the way they are. I can't halt the progression of your illness; I can't make you go for the treatment it requires (because that might kill you); and I can't work a miracle if God in His wisdom intends it to stay that way. But I've wanted to. If I appear to be trying to change things (or you), please forgive me. If I seem angry and detached, be assured that it's not your fault. If it comes across as indifference, it's me masquerading my broken heart. While you may have accepted that you are dying, I haven't quite yet. I need time. I'm tired of hoping but I can't stop hoping just like that. Perhaps, the question is: what should I actually hope for?

I will miss you.

Not in some corny, year-end autograph book kind of way. But I will miss seeing you almost every day, your presence in my life (in often life-saving ways), and every bit of your eccentricity I've grown used to.