Let’s face the facts for just a second . . . I’m going to die. How’s that for an opening statement? Everyone knows you have to grab the reader’s attention right from the start if you want them to finish reading the whole book. Of course this isn’t a book . . . it’s the story of my life. I’m going to die, and my final wish is to just share part of my story with you before I go. Yes, the story of my life, is that I’m going to die. Sounds a bit pessimistic, right? Well that’s probably because that’s not the story of my life. The story of my life, at least for the past few months, can be summed up in one word: disappointment. Well, that and learning to appreciate what doesn’t disappoint me.
   So now that I have your attention, I guess I’ll just lay it on you right now: my story begins somewhere that’s pretty much irrelevant, but I’d like to share it with you anyway. If you ask me, it kind of resembles my life in a way, representing the cold hard truth that everything can change in an instant. The funny thing is that the story of my life begins in a nightmare. My life is a nightmare.                                                          
                                                                        . . .
Through the woods I stroll, slowly taking in everything around me. The forest is filled with life. The path I am following seems to just appear in front of me, then disappears like it was never there to begin with after I have wandered over it. I feel the soft ground through my sneakers, its cushiony moss absorbing the shock from my every step. While walking, my shoes slowly start to disappear, dissolving into the air and disappearing like dust. As my shoes fade faster and faster, I begin to feel the earth between my toes, its damp feeling refreshing to my warm skin. The smell of pine needles fills the air, their fresh smell drawing me deeper and deeper into the forest. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, smelling everything around me—the pine needles, the soil, the wild daisies growing in between the brambles, even the faint smell of the ripened raspberries growing in patches along the path. I dig my toes into the soil even deeper, burying them in its coolness.
   When I open my eyes, the forest looks different. The maple and oak have turned different colors, their bright orange and red leaves streaming through the air like fire raining down onto the ground all around me. The once beautiful daisies now droop on their brown stems, their white petals shriveled up and blowing away. The raspberries, once sweet with their sugary taste, now lie on the ground around the bushes, not even fit for the birds. I close my eyes and inhale once more, seeking the sweet smell of pine needles, only to find that the smell of the forest has changed, too. Now, the only smell that fills my nose, is the smell of Fall. Everything is dying.
                                                                     . . .
   *Deep breath* my chest puffs up as I inhale deeply, taking the air into my lungs. I begin to stir. My eyes slowly blink open, trying to adjust to the light. I bring my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the brightness of the room, then slowly remove it, and rest it at my side. “Ouch!” I feel a pinch as my forearm brushes against the blanket. “Oh, that’s right…there’s an IV in my arm.” I whisper to myself, scrunching up my face as if it helps with the pain. I take another deep breath, then exhale slowly, enjoying the fresh air that has filled my lungs. I don’t know how many more of these deep breaths I am likely to take, so I try to savor each one.
   Cautiously turning my head as not to accidentally tear out any more of my thinning hair, I manage to point my eyes towards the window. Below me, the city dances in the fading sunlight. Cars maneuver through the crowded streets, honking their horns impatiently at people in crosswalks. Shoppers scurry about, making their way from one store to the next, buying last-minute gifts for eager children who wait with gleaming eyes for the next morning’s traditions. All around the city, lights twinkle in all different shades of reds and blues and greens and yellows. The entire world beyond my window just seems so, so…full of life! Life. The word sends chills through my body. Life—the ONE thing I wish I had more of. Less sorrow. Less pain. Less cancer. More LIFE. “More life. More life. More life.” The phrase sticks to my tongue, then melts away like the snowflakes falling outside my window.
   I try to enjoy everything I possibly can, from peaceful views out of the 8th story window, to a simple deep breath. Life’s too short to not enjoy the simple things—that’s what you learn from having to make your second home in a hospital bed. But it’s hard to enjoy the things you have, when all you can think about are the things you don’t have. No freedom, no friends, no hair, no hope, no life. No life. I’d give up almost anything that I do have, just for that one thing that I don’t have. “Life.” The word sends chills through my body once again, this time bringing tears as well. “Life. Life. Life!” I send myself into a hysterical crying fit. “Life! Life! LIFE!” I whisper louder and louder. Shaking my head, I place my hands over my eyes and scrunch my face again, trying to prevent the tears from leaking from my eyes. I take in another deep breath, once again trying to find something to enjoy, but this time it doesn’t work. I’m too upset by the fact that my breaths are limited to even manage to enjoy one. I remove my hands from my eyes and throw them down to my sides in frustration, this time not noticing the little pinch from the IV as it snags on my favorite blanket. Blinking back the tears, I open my eyes once more to the setting sun outside my window. It now rests just above the city skyline, cascading the final shadows of its orange glow across the tops of the buildings around me. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to savor the memory of this Christmas Eve sunset, as it would surely be my last.
                                                                         . . . 
   A few hours later, I awaken to the sound of knocking. It is now completely dark, and the lights of the city shine even brighter through my window than they had before. “Come in!” I manage to say the words, though I am weak and my ability to speak is slowly slipping away from me, as I have been silent now for months. The door slides open. “You can speak! Look at that…and I thought you had gone silent for good!” I instantly recognize the voice. My older sister Danielle slides in through the thick wooden door. Walking quietly, she makes her way over to the bed and sits at my side, taking my hand and placing it in hers. Together, we close our eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly exhale, releasing the refreshing air from our lungs into the room around us. A weak smile finds its way to my lips. Hold hands. Close eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile. This has become a weekly routine. “Okay,” Danielle sighs, placing her hands in her lap. “Since it is Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad have decided to take you out of the hospital for an hour or two, just so we can spend time as a family doing something other than watching movies from a hospital room and having wheelchair races in the halls.” Danielle paused for a minute, then giggled. “Although, that was pretty funny.” I can’t help but laugh a little, even though it hurts my chest.
   Danielle helps me sit upright, then waits as the nurse takes out my IV. Once the nurse leaves, Danielle retrieves my suitcase from the closet and sets it on my bed. She searches through the clothes, careful not to unfold them, looking for something that I can wear. My suitcase has been here since August, just as I have, and contains mostly summer clothes, so it doesn’t surprise me when it takes a few minutes to search through. Finally, she pulls out an outfit suitable for the occasion. A red sweater to hide my scrawny arms, a scarf to help keep me from freezing, some pants as white as the snow, a knit hat to hide my increasingly bald head—the same one I normally wear anywhere outside my hospital room. It’s no secret that I’m losing all of my hair—anyone from school that came to visit me lately knows that. I just wear it in case I see my reflection. Everyone else may be able to accept that I’m bald, but that doesn’t mean that I have to. Knowing that I’ll never get my auburn hair back is almost entirely unbearable. So unbearable, in fact, that I force myself never to think about it, and avoid mirrors and shiny objects as if they’d kill me quicker than the cancer already has. So I simply slip the hat on, careful to tuck any loose hairs I had left inside, and pretend like nothing ever happened to my hair.
   “Knock-knock!” “Come in!” The door slides open yet again, and this time my parents slip through. They walk over to me and hug me. Danielle walks over to the corner of the room, grabs my wheelchair, and wheels it over in front of me. I look down at it, glance over at Danielle, then look at the wheelchair again, letting out a deep sigh. “This could be my last night outside of this hospital. If we’re walking out of here, I’m walking out of here. Not riding, not rolling…walking.” My parents look at each other and sigh. “Okay,” Mom says finally. “Danielle, grab her crutches instead. She’s walking out of here.” I smile, then hug her. This could be the last time I ever use my legs, and I intend to use them well.
   Using my crutches as little as possible, I walk with my family along the sidewalk, passing shoppers and stores of all kinds, hurrying to get back to their warm homes and impatient families. The lights shine even brighter down here on the streets than they do from the large window beside my hospital bed. Ornamental trees along the sidewalks sparkle with their twinkly white lights and branches covered in snow. Store windows shine brightly with their lighted displays, and people with rosy cheeks as bright as red ornaments adorn the streets dressed in their winter wool coats. I breathe in deeply, enjoying everything this life has to offer.
   Suddenly, I’m not scared anymore. I drop my crutches and slowly raise my arms, extending them into the frozen air. Time seems to stop. I bring my hands down to my head and remove my hat, throwing it on the ground. For an instant, I feel free. At this very moment, I don’t care who sees my bald head. The entire city is full of life, and though I may have less life left in me than the city, I want to be a part of it. Danielle starts to giggle. “Haha…what are you doing?” she asks, her breath freezing in the winter air. “Living!” I reply. She walks over to me, extends her arms into the sky like mine, and takes my hand. Together, we inhale, then exhale slowly, sharing with each other a breath of life. For the first time in months, I realize something amazing. Everything is living.