I Remember the Day

I remember the day she was born. She was so small, so vulnerable. She looked so beautiful in her crib, her mother always fretting about if she was comfortable. The day she was born was the day I swore to protect her no matter what.

I remember when she went to her first day of school. I stayed with her all day, of course it was in spirit. When she went into the classroom for the first time she was crying because we had to leave, but when she came home she was a ball of laughter and sunshine. Her first day of school is when I swore to always keep her that little ball of sunshine.

I remember the days when she would come home obsessing over a boy, all the wedding details being spilt so fast I wasn’t able to keep up, or when she came home and stayed in her room for hours jamming out to a new band. Some of the best days were when she was with her friends, she laughed and smiled like the time she came homegrown school for the first time, she was weird in her own amazing way. Those random days were when I swore she could always be herself around me, no matter what.

I remember the day she changed too. She came home with empty eyes and a hollow voice saying she was fine. I went and sat with her for hours just in case she wanted to talk. All she said was that she was just tired. That day I swore to always be there if she ever needed to talk.

As vividly as the good days, I remember the worst day of our family. I heard the water, which was unusual as she should have already left for school and her mother had already showered. I walked towards the bathroom, my socks becoming soaked as I got to the door. A red tinge the the water flooding out from under the door, so I raced in and saw her in the bath, tears staining her face with scars that were no longer invisible on her arms. I called for her mother, yelling as loud as I could. When her mother came in, she started bawling, before grabbing the phone to call an ambulance while I sat there comforting her. The paramedics came and took her to the hospital. That day I swore to always be by her side no matter what.

I remember the day she came back, and all the days after it. She lashed out, almost relapsed a few times but she was on her way to being better. She did more activities, even if some days it was harder to get out of bed. She tried though for us, her friends and for herself. That day I swore that she could always lean on me for help, whenever she needed me.

I remember the first day of therapy. She was reluctant and would only go if I went with her. So I did. We were in the waiting room for ten minutes before we got called in. The therapist seemed nice, a good presence radiating off him. She seemed comfortable early on in the session but didn’t talk about her problems. The first few I continued to go with her but after about the fifth session she went by herself. She would come home afterwards, and talk about a certain suggestion or something he did that helped. One day he shot her with foam bullets when she spoke about herself negatively. She said that made her feel so much better. That day I swore to always let her talk about whatever she wanted to keep the dark thoughts away.

I remember the day she became herself again. Her hair was up, and she was wearing a singlet, showing off the scars she was always self conscious about, and shorts. But that wasn’t the big indicator. What really told me she was back was how excited she was when she found out she got into her dream university.  She was dancing around the room, smiling, laughing, squealing, just like she used too. She called her friends around to celebrate with them. They all screamed before putting on songs from when they were growing up. She was laughing so hard she was breathless and her voice cracked as she and her friends tried to hit the high notes. As I observed her, it was as if I could see the black cloud that had engulfed her, lighten to a grey. That day I swore to keep making that cloud lighter and lighter.

I remember the days she spent packing. Sorting all her belongings into three bags. She was going to live at the dormitories at the university. She had days where she would scream in excitement and there were days where she would panic about if she was ready for that much of a change. When those days came around, her mother would sit her down and tell her that aside from love, few activities seem to provide us as much happiness as going travelling: taking off for somewhere else, somewhere far from home, a place with more interesting weather, customs and landscapes. They laughed about the weather part, the school was only two hours away. That quote seemed to get her through so much. That day I swore to always provide her with the same amount of love that I knew she would feel for travelling.

I remember the day she left for university. All smiles and nervous excitement, as if she was right back in kindergarten. She promised to call if things ever got bad again before giving us one last hug before leaving us behind, driving to her new life. That was the day I swore to always support her, no matter how much distance was between us. 

I remember the day she came home too. She had tears in her eyes, as she hugged me, muttering sweet nothings in my ear. She asked her mother how long I had left, a sob wracking her body when she heard I wouldn’t make it through the night.  I realised that this was the day that all my promises were going to be broken. I closed my eyes, imagining all the days I wish I had the chance to remember. The wedding day she had planned since the age of thirteen, the kids she had already chosen names for, and even the house I knew she had already mentally decorated. But I knew I would never be able to see these days come to pass. I accepted that when it started to hurt too much to be normal. I opened my eyes again when I felt her hand stroking my head, I could hear her talking as well. She was saying how much she loved me, to the moon and back, how much she will miss me and our amazing time together, how proud of me she is that I kept fighting, until the end and how thankful she is for my constant support. As I closed my eyes for the last time, I heard her sob out one last sentence in a wobbly voice.

“You are a good boy, the best dog ever.”