Some people you want to tell because you want them to miss you before your gone. Because you want their attention. Some people you don’t know what to say to… you begin to think back to all those names who disappeared from your social life. What were they doing now? Will they ever find out – and if they do, what will they think of, when they of you.

It’s been 3 months since I suspected it, 2 since my first appointment. I went in today, with my mum, she cried when they told me. I didn’t.

I’m 23. All my life I’ve wanted to list down my accomplishments and achievements, I’ve wanted everyone who ever knew me to know just how much effort I had put into my life. My qualifications, my completion, my car, my job…all things I worked for.

Of course now I know that at 23, there are 23 things that I have done. I’ve been 4 years old; I’ve been 16… and legal. I’ve been 18… I’ve had 23 years. I wish I had 24.

Some people know just by looking at you, they cry. You don’t.

When I passed my driving test, I was still 17, soon as I could have lessons I had them! I always wanted to drive; I always wanted to get places faster. That’s why I got the jobs, its why I made the contacts, the friends, I always wanted to achieve as much as I could as fast as I could.

I walked home. Mum drove. She begged me not to make her leave me. But some people, even when they’re silent, are so loud. Every single one of their thoughts leaks out of their eyes. Some people miss you before your gone.

Its ok. She’ll get home before me and let my family know. They’ll cry before I get there and try and be strong when I arrive. They’ll hide their fears and make room for mine, ask me what I want to do with myself.

The doctor was so calm. I think he was surprised that I didn’t cry.
“There’s nothing we can do for you”
“How long?”
“Six months”
Mum cried. I didn’t.

The first month was fine. Nothing changed, people did, a lot of people brought me flowers… flowers I noticed, do nothing more then look pretty and die. The idea of something dieing in my living room didn’t sit well with me. I watched them live their two weeks, wondered if they were half aware, wondered whether they’d bloom faster if they knew they wouldn’t last long.

Should I thrive to finish off the loose ends? Should I work the next 5 months? – Travel… but what’s there to see.

Every night I hear my bedroom door creak, at first I assumed that it was my mother. Coming to watch me sleep. Last night, I opened my eyes slowly and saw my sister standing there. She’s 16. We got on but were never friends, should I spend my last few months with her?

They watch me at dinner. Mum says she doesn’t understand why I still eat healthly. She bought me a cake.
“A goodbye cake?”
“No... No of course not…” she looked at my dad, waiting for him to assure me that they weren’t saying goodbye.
“Oh”
“Would… you like to have a goodbye cake?”
“No. No I don’t really want a goodbye at all actually. I like cake simple, chocolate, it should be had at happy occasions… but feel free to have one at my funeral, one I don’t like, carrot-perhaps.”

With four months to go, I did what I did best. I organised an event. My funeral.
“I don’t want any flowers, I want to be the only thing there that’s past or near the throw-by-date”

At two months to go I’d realised I’d done it all wrong… I hadn’t planned my stay, nor my goodbye, just my immediate after.

At one month, I left home. They had said 6months tops, I figured I might only have a few days left, and as I had worked so hard for my money, I decided it was about time I moved out. Never wanted to before, never thought I could afford it. Still though, one month sounded good, I could afford a few days to four weeks.

Mum cried. Dad did too, my sister… she fell apart and told me she’d live for me.
“Live for me? No thanks… in fact, please don’t. That’s stealing”

How do you say goodbye… its not an ‘I’ll see you later’ not even an ‘I’ll see you around’ its not a ‘I love you’ or a ‘I’ll see you tonight’ its not even one of those goodbye’s where you only say it because you’re angry, and whether you will ever see them again or not, they’ll be there.

It’s inevitable. They’ll forget me, in ten years I’ll be a ‘I had another daughter, she died… we were devastated, we still miss her’

I got in my car and checked my mirrors. I felt so beautiful. What a waste. mum followed me and begged me to hug her.
“Please… just… let me hold you, please!” she cried. I didn’t.
“I’ll see you at the funeral mother”
And as I drove off.. leaving my family as shadows in the distance. I cried for the first time, no one would ever call me mummy.