It didn't occur to me until I originally laid down to sleep tonight, also, that this Saturday marks exactly one year from when the doctor walked into his hospital room, and told him and his parents that they were only giving him a 50% chance of making it out of the hospital alive. It was at that moment that I lost it; and everything rushed back... Like my self-blame, the feelings I felt at some important moments when things were changing, or when we were trying to acclimate ourselves to new situations; and I just hate it all, but wouldn't want to trade it for the world.
I was playing matron of honor, that night... When he was diagnosed.
I find myself, lately, just wanting to drive down to Indianapolis. I want to visit the hospital that we frequented for so many days straight. I want to relive those memories... And I think that subconsciously, I hope that he would be there.
For some reason, it still hasn't fully dawned on me that he's gone.
And ps -- my name's Bethany; and I'm 22.