I hope death is kind.

Your eyes closed, The distant smell of your newborn’s head returning. His dark hair 

caked his head, blood and fluids from having just been birthed covered him. He didn't cry or scream. He wasn’t breathing for a while. You remember the nurses ripping him out of your arms, bringing him to a table that felt like it was miles away, putting an oxygen mask on his tiny face. You had never been so scared. Never. 

Next, an operating room. You had complications with a natural birth, not going as smoothly as your first. Too much bleeding maybe, a tear in the placenta. She came out screaming, that you knew. You almost named her Banshee. And, god, she had your mother's eyes. Everyone told you that she was your twin. 

“I love you, and I’ll love you forever.”

These weren’t a whisper nor a small, soft voice in your head. You felt them beside you, like they were your own. And your heart glowed.

“I love you, and I’ll love you forever.”

You remember sitting on that old beat-up couch, the one your dad loved, and your mom hated, holding your baby. He cried very seldom, which to anyone else was a blessing. But those first two years without sleep, having to stay up with him, watch his chest rise and fall. Watch every single breath. Those were no blessings. 

But he grew, and became the little boy who loves Twizzlers and a stray dog he named ‘Ranchy’. The little boy who only responded to ‘Olie’ because ‘Oliver was too long’; unless his mom was mad. The boy who never liked his haircut, who never wanted to wash his hands, and then complained when he got sick every year. The boy who was a mess but never failed to make you smile, from ear to ear. 

“I love you, and I’ll love you forever.”

They were set in stone, carved into marble. August 20th, 2005-July 7th, 2016.

And the years flew by like molasses after; slow, agonizing, with a taste that taints the mouth. Every year, every month, every second. And like nails on a chalkboard, these memories are the clearest. 

Light peaked out from behind the white curtains, illuminating the blue and pink decorations that littered the room. It was early in the day, too early for many of them to be awake, but He was, always waking with the sun. His small frame was curled in a loose question mark, bundled underneath a few thin blankets. Hospitals were always cold, but this one was the coldest, the air a stagnant reminder of winter.

“It isn't fair,” Oliver had said once, voice weak from exhaustion, “I hate the cold.”

You chuckled, thumb grazing over his cheek as he laid his head on your chest.

“I don’t want to die cold.” 

With his voice even quieter, your heart broke. There was an anger that bubbled up into your throat each time you were reminded of the reality. Every time a doctor came into the room, every wheeze after treatment, every one of these talks. And after every reminder, you had to swallow it like a pill only to feel it in your chest, stuck. After every swallow, your spirit broke. 

You opened your mouth to rebuttal, to reassure him that he wasn't going to, that he was going to get better, eventually. But you both knew that wasn’t true. Not anymore. He was only getting weaker with each passing day, no longer responding to treatment. You knew what was happening, but still fought tooth and nail from believing it. It was just too big of a pill.

The steady beat of your heart put Oliver to sleep quickly, his slow and shallow breathing catching your attention. You held him as close as you could, placing a kiss on his head before laying your cheek in its place. He was so small, so frail, but it was just too big of a pill to swallow. 

Oliver blinked, the sunshine gleaming across his face, almost like a hello. It was one of the few things that still made him smile. He whispered a small hi back, squeezing the blanket as he tightened the shape his body made. The days felt shorter now, even as the sunlight lasted longer and the simplicities weren’t so simple anymore. It still, even in his last days, flew by. He thought maybe that was why, but then he remembered how many times his grandmother had always said, ‘Time flies by when you’re having fun.’ But then he thought it was because he knew he was dying. Wasn’t in denial like many of the other children, wasn’t afraid anymore. He had made peace with it, at least as much peace as a ten-year-old kid can. 

When he was first diagnosed, at the age of eight, he didn’t understand it. All he was told was that he was sick–which wasn’t a rare occurrence for him anyway– and that he needed special treatment. But it was different, he knew quickly. From the look on your face and the constant whispering from behind closed doors. He saw less and less of his dad. Now it was maybe once a week that he’d visit. Things changed so quickly and all Oliver could do was watch. And as time went on, as he grew weaker and sicker, he found himself alone more. Alone, in the cold, often dark and quiet room of the children's cancer ward. He had so many questions in the beginning, some he was too afraid to ask, and some he knew you’d be too afraid to answer. So he never asked, and they just grew into more questions. Eventually, he decided to make up the answers himself, almost like a game in some odd way. It was something familiar, to hold onto. 

The time alone gave him time to think, a positive side he sought out as the isolation began to eat at him. He thought and thought and thought some more, some stories, some pretending, and even more games. And after months of thinking, story after story, game after game, they began to pile up. One day he asked one of the nurses who checked on him for a notebook, and it's been one after another ever since. That was his safe place, his newfound escape. After every blood draw and round of radiation, every surgery and transfusion, a new notebook would be filled by the end of the day. 

An abrupt knock against the door broke Oliver's sense of focus, making him jump slightly in place. He would’ve responded, as he did every day, but just couldn’t bring himself to this time. After no response, another set of smaller and quieter knocks followed, now noticeably lower than the first. But he resumed staying silent, assuming they’d open the door eventually, maybe thinking he was still asleep. 

The door slowly cracked open, dull light and distant noise from outside flooded in, highlighting his figure. No words were spoken as you moved closer, a little girl following closely behind, before the door quietly clicked shut. The sunshine was brighter now, illuminating most of the room. But Oliver paid no attention to you or his sister, eyes simply glued to the glow of outside. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been out there, when he hadn’t been too weak to leave or too healthy to soak it up for all that it was worth. 

“Olie?”

The mattress dipped under your weight as scooted closer to look at him, having noticed his open stare. You brought a finger to his face, lightly brushing against his cheek. Your voice was so soft, he wondered if you were worried you'd kill him with it.

“Your sister made you something.” 

He shifted his attention to the little girl beside you, a quiet little fear in her eyes as she noticed how much her big brother had changed. She had been sick the last few days you had visited, but still managed to send the daily drawing with you to deliver. Those previous pages of color littered the walls of his room. He had made it a point to let her choose what he decorated his room with, just to have that little piece of his sister at all times. Every picture lifted his spirits about as high as he could get them. Maybe when he first gave her free rein did he expect to regret it, assuming she’d find a way to paint the walls a hot pink, but even that would’ve made him more than happy. 

His eyes lit up as he saw her, a small smile gracing his lips, of which she immediately mirrored. 

“Hi,” He spoke, weakly bringing out a hand towards her, voice raspy due to lack of use. Her small hand took his, which he instantly squeezed, earning a small giggle. 

“Hi.” Her voice was just as soft. 

Oliver attempted to help her up as she began to, but could only do so much before you jumped in, grabbing her other hand. 

“You wanna show Olie what you worked so hard to make?”

The little girl nodded, reaching for her backpack still on the floor. With her arms just slightly too short, you grabbed it for her, placing it in her lap. The sound of coins clinking together chimed inside the bag, sending a guilty look to the girl's face. You sighed.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave those at home?” 

She nodded.

“So why are they in your bag?”

She shrugged, to which you sighed once again. 

Oliver just quietly watched, slightly amused at his sister’s disobedience. She hasn’t changed much in these past few years. You just decided to save it for later, brushing it off so she could continue, to which she quickly did. In her hands was a hand-crocheted giraffe; Oliver’s favorite animal. 

“Abuela and momma showed me how,” 

Oliver took it, bringing it closer to see. 

“Do you like it?” 

He smiled, the little black eyes of the giraffe seeming to stare into his. 

“Nah,” She frowned, “I love it.” 

“She spent all week working on it,” you spoke, trying desperately to engrain his smile into your mind. Those were rare now, the genuine ones. He’d fake plenty, for his sister mainly, because you knew him too well. You always saw right through them. 

He stretched out his arms, engulfing Mia in the hug she practically threw on him as soon as he moved. 

“Thank you.” 

The whisper brushed the hair against her neck, warmth slight and soft. 

“I missed you,” She whispered back, laying her head on his shoulder before squeezing. Oliver squeezed back, laying his head on her shoulder as well, her hair smelling of her strawberry shampoo. He left no need for a response.

Your hand reached inside the worn-out bag, a faded pink with stains of many years. You had tried to buy her a new one, but she had refused. 

“Olie gave it to me,” She’d argue every time, holding the bag to her chest as if you’d rip it away from her if not. Oliver in fact did not, but she wouldn’t believe you even if you had told her. 

The small purse of coins on the bottom clinked as you pushed it aside, blindly searching for an assumed easy find, but nothing. 

“Where’d you put your drawing, Mija?” 

The little girl’s head poked up, doe eyes looking up at you in question. 

“It's not in your bag.” 

She laid her head back down on her brother's shoulder, blinking at the dilemma.

“You didn’t leave it in the car, did you?” You asked, remembering the rush on the way out as she tried to finish it. 

“You can finish it in the car, baby, we gotta go,” Your hands were filled with the over due library books that she had insisted on checking out all at once. She might’ve finished two. You had planned on dropping them off first, one less need for later, but the road to the library was blocked, and it only spurred you on further.  

She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, a loose dark curl sliding over her face.

 “I’ll go look,” You sighed before switching to a reassuring smile as she silently apologized. Those eyes always seemed to be atoning for something. You placed a kiss on her forehead before she loosened the hold she had on her brother, letting you get your own hug in before you left. You never squeezed or held him too tightly, always afraid to break him, which only made you wish you had more when you could. 

“I’ll be back, okay?” 

He nodded against your shoulder, gripping tighter as he felt you start to pull back. You softly chuckled, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. 

“I won’t be long, don't worry.” 

Your hands held his cheeks, gently lifting his face up to look at him.

“I love you anyway,” 

You spoke softly, leaving a kiss on his forehead before departing. They heard your muffled voice from outside the door, telling one of the nurses that she left you two alone.

Oliver patted the space beside him, inviting his sister to take her place. She smiled, climbing under a blanket and moving closer to him. 

“Do you want me to read or you?” He asked, reaching for one of his notebooks from next to the bed. 

“Me.” 

He opened the book to the beginning of one of his last stories, The good dragon in large letters, written on the top.

“There once lived a dragon in a forest so deep no one ever went in,” She began, taking her time on each word. Oliver listened, watching her eyes move over each letter, and helping her with some of the bigger ones. Over time of writing more and more stories, he had asked for a dictionary, looking for bigger words to teach his sister. He could still help, even from far away. 

This was one thing he knew he’d miss once he was dead. He had made a list of what he’d miss the most, and sitting on the top was his sister. Every part. Even when she annoyed him. Her voice was almost distant as his mind flew somewhere else, flicking through the many reasons he didn’t want to leave yet, like Television channels. They were on his mind more lately. Maybe because breathing was harder and shallower. Or each night, before he fell asleep, a pulsing fear swept over him that that was the moment. The last night. It wasn’t, and he realized it each day he awoke, but still, that fear always returned. The feeling was here now but less of a fear. Maybe he finally got used to it. 

He pulled his sister closer, her head finding its rest back on his shoulder. His heartbeat quickened slightly. Maybe he hadn’t. 

“Mia,” 

The reading halted, bright brown eyes quickly looking up at him. He paused, a bit of guilt washing over him as he saw her innocent questioning. A different question first. 

“How’s momma at home?”

She laid her head back down.

“Sad. Always sad.” 

He nodded. 

“Dad?”

“Mad.” 

“What about Abuela?”

She thought for a second.

“She’s happy, but I hear her praying every time she goes in her room.”

There was a small hum of acknowledgment after she spoke, but nothing more for a while. He thought quietly.

“How’s school?” 

She smiled.

“Alex let me kiss him on the cheek.” 

He giggled, which only made her to as well. 

“Tell Alex that your big brother isn’t afraid of beating him up if he breaks your heart.”

The sound of her laughter intensifying made him smile. The kind that made his eyes squint and his cheeks hurt. Her laughter seemed to always have that effect. Sooner or later, it died down and they both sat in the comfort of one another.

“Mia,” 

She hummed, eyes closed as her steady breath brushed against his neck.

“Would you be okay with me gone?” 

She was quiet for a few seconds. 

“Would I see you again?” 

“Yes.” 

“Than yea.”

He squeezed her closer, pushing his nose into her hair, afraid that the scent might disappear at any moment.

“Do you think It’s painful?” 

He asked, knowing he didn’t need to specify. 

“I hope not.” 

Her words were quiet, voice not as strong. He recognized the sound.

“Don’t cry,” 

“Why?” 

She sniffled. 

He pulled her face up to look at his, little teardrops falling out of the corner of her eyes. His thumb swiped them away.

“Because,” 

His voice was weaker as well.

“You’ll see me again.” 

Her big brown eyes stared back into his, breaking his heart. He pulled her back into his chest, holding her as tight as he could, placing a kiss on her head. 

“But I’ll miss you,”

She spoke with another tiny sniffle. 

“I know,” 

He closed his eyes, laying his cheek on her head.

“I'll miss you too.” 

They stayed like that for a moment, silent tears shared between one another. 

“You’ll get to see Abuelo.” 

He smiled softly at her words, salty fluid collecting on his lips.

“Tell momma that I didn’t die cold for me, please?” 

She nodded, little hands grasping tightly to his hospital gown. 

“I love you, Olie.” 

“I love you too, Mia.” 

His breathing slowed over the many moments they stayed that way, soaking it up for as long as possible. Soon it stopped, one of the monitors beside his bed beeping loudly. It was all too quick, The nurses rushing in, pulling her away, causing her to drop the notebook she had quickly grabbed in the hallway. The nurse holding her picked it up, the page it dropped on being one the little girl didn't recognize. It was another story, a new one and seemingly the last. She read through it, eyes ending on the last sentence. 

“I hope death is kind.”