~
After everything Jason had gone through to ask me to the dance, I couldn’t make him wait for my answer for long, so after a few phone calls to find out which student body officer would be willing to help me, by the next morning Jason received my “Jason West—Kathy Colton says yes!” answer back. By way of the school marquee, of course.
~
June 5
Dear Kitty,
It feels so good to be home! And to actually be feeling good. I hope this high lasts for a while, because it is so great to feel so much stronger right now.
I’d forgotten how tight Mom hugs. That always irritated me as a kid, but now it feels nice. Makes me feel like I’m truly home. Dad—I wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but I took one step towards him and he grabbed me up in a bear hug and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t mind, though. Not at all.
You’re so big—and you can say so many words! You were so proud of yourself, bringing me things like magazines and cinnamon rolls. If someone tried to help you, you’d yell, “Me do—me do! Myself!” Mom says you say that all the time—you have to do everything yourself—you’re hardly a baby anymore! And you jabbered at me all day. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me and that you’re happy I’m back.
We watched the sunset together on the porch again tonight with the Beatles as background music. There won’t be many nice summer days left, and I don’t want to miss any opportunity I have to watch sunsets with you.
I’ve been thinking a lot about God and Jesus, and all the things Kelly used to tell me about his religion. When I see something as beautiful as a sunset, I can believe in God. I can’t accept the idea that this world just happened by chance—that you or I just happened, like some strange accident. Someone had to be in charge of making everything. Something as beautiful as a sunset couldn’t just happen by chance. Someone had to be there to figure out how to make the sun and sky create such beautiful colors together—like still fire spread all across the sky.
While I was in the hospital, I made the decision not to take any more chemo meds. Dr. Grenville and I talked about my condition and the hard, cold, mean fact that I’m not getting better and that most likely, I’m not going to get better. My sickness is getting out of control, and now that I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t have a lot of time left, I refuse to spend that time drugged up, lying in a hospital bed for who knows how many more months—or even years. That’s just not a life to me, Kitty. I’d rather stay sane for whatever time I have left and be able to enjoy everything around me with a clear head. Dr. Grenville prescribed some powerful painkillers for my worst days, but other than that, I just want to live my life the best I can for as long as I have. I’ve even prayed about this decision, and I feel good about it. Mom and Dad took it pretty hard, though. So did Sam and Alex. I hope in time they’ll realize it’s not only the best for me but for everyone else in the family, too. The only hard part about this decision is you. I hate the idea of not being able to watch you grow up, but Kitty, I also don’t want your memories of me to be of some comatose guy lying around in a hospital bed. I hope that you’ll have some memory of your own of me—a healthy me—but if that’s not going to happen, then I want the me I’ve tried to record in this book be the me you think of instead . . .
June 20
Dear Kitty,
I’m glad to be home, but at the same time, I can’t stand the way Alex and Sam treat me now. You’d think I was going to drop dead this second. Alex was bugging me so much today, fussing over me like he was Mom, that I finally just let it all out and yelled at him.
Alex got quiet, and when he finally looked up at me, he had tears running all down his face. I’ve never seen Alex cry like that before. And then he said, “I’m sorry, Brett, but I’ve never had to deal with having my brother die.” All I could say to that was if he expected me to feel sorry for him, to just forget it. I’m the one who’s dying here—not him.
What Alex did next shocked me. He’d been holding a glass of orange juice, but he turned and threw it as hard as he could, smashing it into millions of little pieces. We both stared at the sticky streaks of orange dripping down my wall before Alex faced me. He was still crying, and his voice shook when he said, “This illness of yours isn’t just yours, you know. You’re not the only one who’s dying.” His voice shook even harder when he said, “Some of me is dying, too.”
We were both quiet for a while before I told him that I’m the one who’s going to have to be without all of you, but he came back with, “But we’re going to have to be without you! I’m going to have to try to learn to live my life without you. And I have no idea how I’m going to do that, Brett.” He paced my room, running his fingers through his hair, while he said, “I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to act—I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through. I only know what I’m going through, and believe me, it’s incredibly hard to watch you go through this.” So I shouted back, “Do you think it’s easy for me? I’m the one who’s had to deal with the chemotherapy, the puking, the weakness, being in a stinking bed all day—”
But Alex cut me off with, “But I have to be the one to stand here helplessly watching all of it, because no matter what I do, I can’t make it go away. I can’t even take a millionth of it away. Maybe I can’t understand your illness, but you can’t understand what it’s like not knowing what you’re really going through, wondering how much you’re keeping to yourself and wondering if there’s something I could have done—something I’m not doing—” He had to stop and wipe his nose and eyes with his shirtsleeve before he could say, “Here I am, nothing wrong with me, and there you are, sick, and I can’t give you any of my ‘healthiness.’ The only thing I can do is stand here and watch you . . .” He stopped and looked at me with those tears frozen on his face and said, “I don’t want you to die.”
I had to say something, so I said, “Think I do?” I tried to smile, but it didn’t turn out quite right. Then Alex asked me real softly if I was scared, so I admitted, “Sometimes.” But that felt like a lie, so I said, “No—I guess I’d have to say, a lot of the time I am,” which was one of the most honest things I’ve said in a long time.
Then Alex grabbed me up in one of his fierce bear hugs and said, “So am I.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Good grief—even I never got this much fuss made over me when I was asked to dances!” I decided to take Sam’s reaction to Jason’s little visit to Mom and Dad as a compliment when she called on the phone to demand details.
“Yeah, well, Mom’s still not thrilled.”
“I know, but she’s letting you go. That’s pretty amazing. So—have you got a dress yet?”
“Not yet.”
Sam’s shriek forced me to hold the phone away from my ear. “Not yet? Kathy—the dance is next week!”
“I know, but I want to get something amazing. But in a modest type of a way.”
There was definite confusion in Sam’s voice. “A ‘modest type of a way’?”
“Yeah. I want to look hot without having to show a ton of skin.”
Sam was silent for a moment. “You mean, you want to look classy and elegant.”
Yes! “Exactly. And there’s only one person I know who can help me find just the right, amazing dress. That is, of course, if she’ll go with me.”
I could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “I’ll bet she’d love to go if you’d ask her.”
“You really think she’d say yes?”
“I’d bet that amazing dress on it.”
Now I was smiling into the phone. “Are you free Saturday?”
“For you? I’ll make sure I am, Kathy. How about I pick you up at ten?”
“Sounds good. And hey—Sam—”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“Thanks yourself. For inviting me. It means a lot to me.”
“To me, too.” I could feel my throat tightening up in a weird way I wasn’t used to having happen when I talk
ed to Sam.
I never knew shopping with my sister could be so much fun. I had a tough time deciding because Sam’s practiced eye and style guaranteed that every dress not only fit like magic but looked smashing, too. But when Sam handed me a velvet gown, I couldn’t help groaning.
“What?” Sam demanded, peering over the dressing room door at me.
I shook the dress at her. “Velvet?”
Sam only gave me one of her determined looks. “It is winter, you know. Velvet is definitely acceptable during wintertime. And it’s a Christmas color for a Christmas dance.”
“But there’s no snow outside, and it isn’t even cold! I’ll bake in this thing!”
“Just try it on!”
I knew there was no leaving the dressing room until I tried on the dress, so I sighed and yanked the gown down over my head and turned to face the mirror—
“Well? What do you think?” I stepped out of the dressing room and saw in Sam’s eyes what I already knew.
“Wow—that’s the amazing dress you’ve been looking for, isn’t it?”
I smiled happily into the dressing room mirror. “Most definitely.”
The gown really was amazing. The velvet was lightweight and incredibly soft. It had a high, empire waist with a green satin ribbon that matched the velvet running the circumference of the dress over the high waist seam, ending in the back as a thin sash. The square neckline was a bit rounded, it was so softly squared, and the cap sleeves caused the dress to dip slightly off my shoulders. The dress pulled in snug at the waist to flare out softly from my hips in A-line fashion. I loved the soft rustling noise it made as I moved, and I loved how beautiful I felt in it.
Sam grinned and winked at me. “We just need to pick out some pumps to go with this baby, and then let’s eat!”
Picking out shoes turned out to be easy enough. I found a pair as simple and elegant as the dress itself, and soon we were stuffing our faces on Chinese food at Sam’s favorite restaurant. We’d hardly started in on our spicy meal, though, when Sam went in for the kill.
“So—Kathy. Has he kissed you yet? Jason, I mean, of course.”
I definitely was not prepared for this kind of discussion. Dresses and shoes, yes. Kissing Jason—no!
Sam laughed. “Don’t choke—and don’t tell me you two haven’t kissed! Not after all of those private lessons you’ve been giving him!”
“I’ve—we’ve—been completely professional. I agreed to tutor him in English, and that’s what I’ve done.”
Sam stared at me before leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You’ve definitely got more willpower than me. I would’ve been all over him the first time I had him alone.”
I didn’t want to talk with Sam about kissing Jason, so of course, I changed the subject. “Sam, will you come do my hair and makeup? Like you did before?”
Sam smiled and thankfully forgot all about kissing. “I’d love to. Besides, you couldn’t keep me away. I’ve got to see how you look in that dress!” Sam winked. “And more importantly, I want to see that hot Jason of yours in a tux!”
~
June 25
Dear Kitty,
I’ve been happy to see that you still take Tiny Bear with you wherever you go. You even have to have him with you during our story time. It’s become more of an athletic adventure trying to read you stories. You make it clear when the story’s boring, because in mid-sentence while I’m trying to read to you, you’ll grab the page and turn it before roughly turning lots of pages. Then you slam the back cover to close the book and turn to me proudly and say, “All done!” I’m learning which books not to choose anymore. I’ve also learned it’s better to let you choose a story, only it usually works out that if I leave it to you to decide, you pick a stack! But of course, I don’t mind. I’d read to you all day if you wanted me to.
Sam came into our room to fuss over me again today. She tries to talk cheerfully about the weather, but her hands shake while she dusts everything she can get her hands on. I must look worse than I think. Today I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I interrupted her by saying “Sam.” She was caught off guard, and when she finally looked at me, I smiled and said, “I feel lonely.” She tried to laugh and said, “Oh, Brett—you’re not going to get all mushy on me, are you?” I told her to just shut up and give me a hug. We were still hugging when she said, “Brett—I—I don’t know what to say—” so I quickly said, “Then don’t say anything.” I told her if you don’t know what to say, then don’t waste time with talking. Just listen. And I told her you do that really well and that I bet she could learn to be almost as good at it as you are. That really made her laugh, because everyone knows how much Sam likes to talk. “Who put a quarter in her?” is a common phrase around here whenever Sam gets her mouth going.
But you do listen well, Kitty. I hope that’s a quality—a talent—you never lose . . .
July 5
Dear Kitty,
Sam’s decided to go to school here at home instead of back down south with all her friends. She cried all day the day they left to go back to school. I feel sick—well, sicker—that she’s chosen to sacrifice so much for me.
And then Alex shocked me when he announced he’s decided to hold off going to college. Instead, he’s going to live at home and get a job somewhere doing who knows what. Just thinking of Alex doing something like bagging groceries or saying, “Do you want fries with that?” when he should be working out, practicing with a college football team, and studying for freshman exams makes me feel sick to my stomach, because now Alex is making sacrifices, too.
We watched the sunset outside again today, Kitty. I thought about God, and how He gives us every day, and then, He gives us a beautiful sunset to end each day with. Only someone who really cares about us all would do something as nice as that. Sometimes Alex and Sam watch the sunset with us. We talk about everything but what’s happening now. I know they’re scared, too. Every night, they both come into our room to hug me and say, “I love you.” That’s a phrase you don’t hear much in our family, but everything’s different now.
I hope when I die that I take all of my memories with me. If nothing else, I hope I’m at least allowed to remember what Mom and Dad, and Alex and Sam’s faces look like. And yours, too, of course. But I don’t think I could ever forget you, Kitty . . .
August 7
Dear Kitty,
I can tell I’m getting weaker. It seems like everything makes me tired. I still have my painkillers. They help some, but not much. But they’re better than nothing.
I know I don’t have a lot of time left, but I want you to know that I’m not afraid of death. I thought I was, but that’s not what I’m worried about. It’s dying—the actual process—that bothers me. I remember how much you slept just after you were born, and I wonder if dying is just as tiring. Maybe that’s why they refer to dead people as being asleep. You know, “Rest in Peace,” and all that. Since death will be the next adventure for me, I wonder what it will be like. Like whether or not it’s a painful process. Or a hard one. Or maybe it’s as easy as walking from one room into the next. And then I just wonder what it will be like for me. Is it going to be slow—or fast? Am I going to get a lot sicker—feel a lot more pain? I guess I’m just going to have to wait and find out for myself. I’m glad that at least I’ll be at home. The idea of dying in a hospital is horrific. I want my last sights to be familiar, not cold and sterile.
I wonder what God is truly like. I have an idea of what Jesus must be like because of the Bible, but God—“Heavenly Father,” like Kelly calls Him—if He is a different person from Jesus, what does He think of me? One thing I do know for sure now is that I believe there’s something more after death. There has to be more. I’ve got to count for something more than just seventeen years here. Seasons come and go, over and over again, so to me, it’s crazy to think that I, Brett Bartholomew Colton, will just—end. I’ve got to be going somewhere to do something more with myself. Nothing comes from nothing, as we’ve all
heard Julie Andrews belt out
in The Sound of Music a million times. I had to come from somewhere—so I must be going somewhere after this, too.
There has to be a reason why I had to get sick—why I have to deal with this, and why our whole family has to deal with it, too. There has to be some deeper, hidden meaning in and for everything that happens. Clouds come around because we need rain. They aren’t just there to be there. There has to be a reason why I had to get sick . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
August 28
Dear Kitty,
School started this week. Big shock I can’t be there. I try not to let myself think too much about not being on the team. It’s strange. In a way, thinking about school and being disappointed about not playing football anymore is a good thing, because it keeps me from freaking out about dying. But at the same time, thinking about school and football makes me realize that although these are the things that used to be the main things I cared about, now I know there are a lot more important things in life. Like you, and everyone in the family, and making sure you guys know how much I love you all. And noticing and appreciating and being grateful for everything. I don’t think I’d feel the way I do if I wasn’t sick, and I don’t know if I’d want to give up all of those “aha’s” for a trade to be well again. It’d be a tough decision to make. More time would be great, but if I’ve figured out in two years what it takes healthy people their whole lives to figure out, then I feel lucky I’ve been given a way to figure it all out pretty fast.
Which brings me to my main regret. Another huge realization I’ve had is that I let my stupid pride take me over. What’s left of me, anyway. Which means I haven’t talked to Kelly or Jennifer. Don’t be stupid like me and let pride get in the way of great friendships in your life.
Anyway—Kelly knows I’m home. I think he’s tried to call and come over more than I know. I think Mom and Dad won’t let him in because they’re afraid he’ll make me freak out because of Jennifer. Or maybe they think he’d try talking religion with me and don’t want him to “upset” me that way, but I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to him, so I just keep avoiding calling him so I don’t have to say anything. I guess I must get that from Dad . . .
The Secret Journal of Brett Colton Page 23