The Daily Dime: Strength.

it's been awhile since i've made a story. this is the big push before ireland, however. let's "get it on." also, this is my monday story. i just highly doubt i'll have time to write/post this monday, but i didn't want to miss it. as such, here y'go!

------

The boy lie dying.

Cancer had ravaged his eight year old bones, and had been eating a hole for the past two months into his stomach. His 36 year old mother cried two year old tears, and his 15 year old sister nursed one year old anger. His 43 year old father absent for the last 7 years of his adolescent life.

The boy lie dying, and the boy lie silent.

His mother sat down next to him and grabbed his hand. She pressed it to her mouth, kissing as if the harder she kissed, the healthier her son would become. He opened his eyes and smiled.

“Hi mom,” he said calmly.

“Hey baby,” she said. “How do you feel?” she asked.

The boy shrugged and then responded, “I feel alright. I'm thirsty.” His sister handed him water and he drank. After a moment he gave the glass back to his sister and then spoke.

“I talked to daddy.” His mother almost dropped his hand.

“You what? Son... he hasn't been around for a long time. I think you might be confused,” rationalized his mother. He shook his head.

“No. It was daddy. He told me he was sorry for leaving. Told me to tell you that he was coming back home, but it won't be for a long time. He hopes that you'll forgive him.” His sister stopped in her deep sobs and looked with disbelief at her little brother. He looked back at her, craning to see behind his bed and said, “Daddy says he's really proud of the way you've turned out. He doesn't know he is yet, but he will be. He also said he'll buy you a car when he comes home. A red one.” The boy's sister turned his back on him as she cried harder. The boy turned back around to look at his mother. She smiled at her son and stroked his hair.

“Honey, mommy has to go talk to the doctor's really quick. Can I get you anything before I leave?” he shook his head. “Do you hurt anywhere?” he shrugged his shoulders and said,

“I'll be alright.” She nodded and then left the room, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later she came back and resumed her perch on the chair next to the bed. The boy's sister was on the other side, kneeling at his bed side holding his hand, her head resting on the bed at his side. His mother picked his hand back up. She sat in silence for a minute.

The doctors cautioned her that the boy was probably in his final moments and that he was most likely suffering hallucinations. The result of his body releasing hormones into the blood stream and the various medicine cocktails flowing in his bloodstream. His mother was prepared for many things, but the loss of her son was not one of them. Her shaking hand began to stroke the side of his head, running her fingers through his hair.

“It's OK to cry,” she said. “You don't have to be strong. You can cry if you want to.” Two years the boy had fought this battle with cancer, and not once had he cried. Not once had he complained, questioned, criticized or resisted. He complied with every treatment given him, and never had his good humor wavered. Her voice cracked as she said, “why do you have to be so strong? You don't have to be so strong!” The boy looked at his mother and yawned.

“But strong is all I know how to be,” he said. Then he closed his eyes and he slept.

------

a story a day. details: http://dailydime.ning.com/