3 months after Gus had died and I was now at the worst I had ever been (Or so they said). Meaning hospitalisation became my only option.
I often found myself completely fixated on the world outside. Which admittedly now seamed much more like an alternate universe, in which I didn’t belong. Reality seemed like a distant memory, almost as if I was watching through somebody else’s TV screen.
Enduring the repetitiveness of the frequent monosyllabic conversations with the nurses. Who despite working in the most lifeless place, still attempt to withhold the illusion of happiness and positivity, as if I was 7 and still believed in fairy tales. This often became too much. Hence the staring out the window, at least I could then pretend I was somewhat involved in normality, even if I had to live through watching other people.
However I couldn’t shift the feeling of not belonging, like I was now somehow a prisoner inside my own world. This got me thinking very intently, as in a way I’ve never really belonged. I mean I have never been anything but terminal, as much as it pains me to say it, my cancer is me. And observing this absurdity of life through the small hospital window, just lead me deeper to believe I was now a stranger looking back in on myself. Yes admittedly the whole ‘depression is a side effect of dying’ thing probably has some influence on my internal thoughts. But it feels different this time.
Maybe Gus was right. All along he feared his significance. Something that I had not ever thought about, possibly due to the conclusion of my fate being set in stone the moment of diagnosis. However unlike me Augustus fixated his thoughts in wanting to become an influential almost heroic like figure. Maybe if I tried harder to find a meaning to my life I would feel more like I belong. Have a purpose.
I then found myself drifting through thoughts of Augustus Waters. His beautifully crooked smile, I very much loved the first time I saw him at support group. His incredible scent that was now very much long gone. And our shared love of fiction, which undoubtedly strengthened our love. Yes, I often found myself thinking of Augustus Waters. It was so unbearable, the loneliness without him. Tears rolled down my pale deoxyginated face. That’s why I try and find beauty in the frequent reminiscent thoughts I have. However I do think it’s extremely sad that all Gus ever wanted was for his death to have meaning, and I cant help but over examine that statement. What gives our life meaning? I mean how exactly is it measured?...
Because you know what, Augustus Waters was significant. He may have not have discovered a cure for some terrible disease or died in a glorious sacrificial act filled with heroism. But he was significant to me. His life did have meaning. He was no doubt the most incredible influential being in my life, and gave me the most unbelievable memories to last a lifetime.
Maybe it should be measured in the devastation caused by your death as ill tell you one thing Gus, you sure have caused a lot of that.
Maybe it’s selfish of me to consider Gus significant just because he changed me. But he made an in-erasable mark on my life, which I am undeniably grateful for.
It was a privilege to have my heart broken by you Augustus Waters.