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rainbowfic2013-08-19 12:06 am
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-19 12:06 am
Summertime Blues 19, Quill Grey 19: Today
Author: Kat
Title: Today
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Summertime blues 19 (And came there never again as a living person.), quill grey 19 (If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. - Lord Byron) with Kana's paint-by-numbers (The night before).
Supplies and Materials: Frame, novelty beads (All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” Henry Ellis), fingerpainting (at what point does effing first person stop being fingerpainting? Whatever, I hate it so much).
Word Count: 540
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was worth it.
Warnings: planned suicide, terminal cancer.
Notes: On the Lint Roller, dray asked Christopher "If you could decide your own death, how would you design it?" Since he basically did...
I probably should have told them, when I first found out. I think I would have if—
I need to start at the beginning.
I am sixty-eight years old and today is the last day of my life. I'm quite certain of that, because this evening I'll be taking a lethal overdose, and washing it down with some very nice brandy just to be certain. I've thought long and hard about this. It's the best that I can do. My family does not know.
Three months ago I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Not that it affected me much—no pain, no symptoms, only the knowledge. But it is terminal. There is absolutely no doubt about that. It's already spread too far; the survival rate is something like four percent, and that's with chemotherapy. My doctor used words like "quality of life" and "extension of life." She said nothing about remission.
It was very difficult to even imagine telling my family, so I have not. Perhaps it's cruel of me. I don't know for sure. All I know is that they are happy, they are enjoying life, and I cannot bring myself to take that away from them. Maybe, if I had any kind of a chance, I would tell them, but four percent... it's not enough. Not at that cost.
I have been capricious, these past few months. I have gone to work late and left early, spent time on the beach, watched movies I always meant to see and read books I always meant to read. I have called my children home, with their families. I have played with my grandchildren—I have three now, Benjy and Glory and Emma, all of them bright and beautiful—and spent time with my children. I took my wife on a cruise, just the two of us. I've written letters for all of them, my wife, my son and daughters, my grandchildren, my sons in law. All the people important to me, all the things I hope I have said before, all the things they need to know. How much I love them, how proud I am. How much less my life would have been, without them.
I have not rewritten my will. There was no need. A hundred thousand to each of my children, college funds for their children, some small bequests for friends and distant family. Isobel gets everything else, all the rest of me. It's always been hers; this is a formality.
Today my grandchildren and I are going to the beach, to play in the water and make sandcastles. My children and I are going out to lunch, to laugh and reminisce and tell embarrassing stories. And my wife and I have the evening, just the two of us, just as it was at the beginning.
I'll do it after she's gone to sleep. She leaves before I'm awake, in the mornings. She won't be the one to find me. I made certain of that.
Every step has been heading here. Every pain in my life has been leading up to this day. Every joy has sent me to this place.
It was worth it. It was all worth it.
I hope they know that, tomorrow.
Title: Today
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Summertime blues 19 (And came there never again as a living person.), quill grey 19 (If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. - Lord Byron) with Kana's paint-by-numbers (The night before).
Supplies and Materials: Frame, novelty beads (All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” Henry Ellis), fingerpainting (at what point does effing first person stop being fingerpainting? Whatever, I hate it so much).
Word Count: 540
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was worth it.
Warnings: planned suicide, terminal cancer.
Notes: On the Lint Roller, dray asked Christopher "If you could decide your own death, how would you design it?" Since he basically did...
I probably should have told them, when I first found out. I think I would have if—
I need to start at the beginning.
I am sixty-eight years old and today is the last day of my life. I'm quite certain of that, because this evening I'll be taking a lethal overdose, and washing it down with some very nice brandy just to be certain. I've thought long and hard about this. It's the best that I can do. My family does not know.
Three months ago I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Not that it affected me much—no pain, no symptoms, only the knowledge. But it is terminal. There is absolutely no doubt about that. It's already spread too far; the survival rate is something like four percent, and that's with chemotherapy. My doctor used words like "quality of life" and "extension of life." She said nothing about remission.
It was very difficult to even imagine telling my family, so I have not. Perhaps it's cruel of me. I don't know for sure. All I know is that they are happy, they are enjoying life, and I cannot bring myself to take that away from them. Maybe, if I had any kind of a chance, I would tell them, but four percent... it's not enough. Not at that cost.
I have been capricious, these past few months. I have gone to work late and left early, spent time on the beach, watched movies I always meant to see and read books I always meant to read. I have called my children home, with their families. I have played with my grandchildren—I have three now, Benjy and Glory and Emma, all of them bright and beautiful—and spent time with my children. I took my wife on a cruise, just the two of us. I've written letters for all of them, my wife, my son and daughters, my grandchildren, my sons in law. All the people important to me, all the things I hope I have said before, all the things they need to know. How much I love them, how proud I am. How much less my life would have been, without them.
I have not rewritten my will. There was no need. A hundred thousand to each of my children, college funds for their children, some small bequests for friends and distant family. Isobel gets everything else, all the rest of me. It's always been hers; this is a formality.
Today my grandchildren and I are going to the beach, to play in the water and make sandcastles. My children and I are going out to lunch, to laugh and reminisce and tell embarrassing stories. And my wife and I have the evening, just the two of us, just as it was at the beginning.
I'll do it after she's gone to sleep. She leaves before I'm awake, in the mornings. She won't be the one to find me. I made certain of that.
Every step has been heading here. Every pain in my life has been leading up to this day. Every joy has sent me to this place.
It was worth it. It was all worth it.
I hope they know that, tomorrow.
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(it also hits a chord with me, having had elderly grandparents pass in the past few years, and my parents telling me how they want to go if they have a choice. I imagine it would be a lot like this.)
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Thank you. For all of it.
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Thank you.
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That. And compared to his father. And knowing what his children are like and his... I just.
HOLD STILL IMMA WIBBLE ALL OVER YOU CHRISTOPHER AND AUTHOR.
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Thank you!