My strange speculation at eleven

My little sister was diagnosed with cancer a while back. It's one of the terminal kinds, meaning she's going to die. Someone has tried to comfort me with the much used words of "we all die at some point." That didn't reassure me even the slightest. She's only six. I don't want her point to be now.

Right now we're all at the hospital. The rest of our family is gathered around her bed or listening to what a doctor has to say about her case. Her case. They talk about her like she's some sort of project. Well, she's not. She's my little sister. She likes to sing and dance and draw. She has a teddy named Bunny, which isn't a very creative name since it's a bunny, but it's hers. That's why I wandered off. I didn't want to listen to how the doctor spoke of her. Somehow I seemed to have wandered into some waiting room. Or at least I think it's a waiting room. There are a few people sitting on chairs, reading magazines and, well, waiting. I guess the waiting room is as good a place as any since all I can really do is wait. Wait for all of this to be over. Wait for her final stage of chemo. Wait for the unwanted monster inside her innocent little body to spread. Wait for my little sister to die.

My expression probably portrays that of someone ill because a nurse gently touches my arm, "Are you okay, miss? Who are you waiting for?" I look into her soft hazel eyes.

"I-" I don't feel okay. "I'm just waiting for my sister to get better."

"May I ask what the matter is?"

"She has cancer." With those words the nurse's expression got a subtle hint of sadness.

"Oh, I'm very sorry. What kind?" Her voice also became more of a soft whisper.

"I don't know." I look to the ground, I don't know if it's bad not to know but when we found out I just didn't want to hear it. And I guess it doesn't even matter because it's not like I would know how to cure it even if I did know.

"Do you like reading?" This odd question makes me meet her gaze again.

"I guess..."

"Because I think you can do with a distraction." She turns and walks over to the reception area. Unsure whether I should follow or not I make a few careful steps in her direction. She returns to me with a book in her hand.

"It's a guy writing about a very dear friend he also lost to a terrible disease." I looked down at her outstretched hand, Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. "It really helped me a lot through a hard time, maybe it can help keep you busy while you're waiting." She smiles a soft and warm smile, a smile I suppose you have to master when you're a nurse.

"Thanks, uh..."

"You can bring it back when you're done. I'll just be here." And with that she started to assist the other poor souls waiting for some terrible fate.

It's around eleven at night and we're still in the desolate hospital. My parents refuse to leave my little sister alone and I told them I might as well wait here, too. I'm already almost halfway through the book the nurse gave me. I really like the book but since I've been somewhat deprived of sleep lately the words are starting to turn into heavy mush in my mind. My eyelids are becoming like waves, slowly drifting back and forth, opening and closing. Just before I completely drift away at sea a few lines in the book catches my attention:

. . .would he become, in time, the man he had been before? He shook his head. “No way I could go back. I am a different self now. I’m different in my attitudes. I’m different appreciating my body, which I didn’t do fully before. I’m different in terms of trying to grapple with the big questions, the ultimate questions, the ones that won’t go away.

These words, and a few others from the book swirling around in my head, crashes against my thoughts. I've been so absorbed in the negative conclusion, wrapped up in the undeniable fact that my sister is going to die, that I haven't once considered what that might mean. And at this late hour my mind starts to form this idea. My speculation on life.

                What if our test in life is to die?  I've heard people talk about "near death experiences" and how it changed their life, how it made them realize what is important. People close to dying also seem wiser, they have realized that all the non-important and materialistic things they thought mattered, really don't.

                What if our main goal in life, our reason for existence is simply to die.  To experience it. That moment when everything becomes clear. Then with that clarity we are taken to a different place, where we arrive bearing the knowledge of what death has taught us and with that we create a new life. A better life.  A life where we all know what it feels like to have died and therefor can then truly be alive.

So I shouldn't be looking at my sister's situation in such a negative light if I don't even know for sure what will happen. All I can really do is simply to be with her. Delight in the time we can still share and just believe whatever death brings is necessary. Now my sister may not possess the experience or wisdom Morrie has gained through his life but she has her innocence to offer.

The next morning I walk into my sister's room. She is already awake and receiving her medication. Her bright blue eyes fall delighted on me. They soften her cold and harsh surroundings and invite me to come closer. My little sister was diagnosed with death. She's only six. She still has a lot to offer and she will do just that. Even if it might be after death. She smiles and I hold her hand. Whatever happens, it will be okay.