He was still, face pale. That part made me laugh when I first saw him: the fact that his face was so pale. I didn’t know it was possible for his face to get whiter than it was before. But there he was, pale as a ghost (and if his skin got any lighter, I think he’d have to be transparent).

No expression.

That made me laugh even more. He had always been the one for smiling--you know, those ear-to-ear, so-huge-it-makes-you-squint, wish-he-had-cheeks-to-stop-his-lip type smiles. I always hated his smiles. Not because they were annoying alone, but because they made me smile, too.

Not anymore.

Not now, never again. That made me cry--well, crying would be an understatement actually. I was wailing. That’s a more apt word, wailing. Screaming, too. I don’t know who I was addressing, though. I was just yelling my lungs out; I barely even remember what I was screaming, just remembered that I almost made myself deaf. I thought for a few moments.

The screaming stopped.

He wouldn’t have liked me screaming. Not for him. He would have liked the first reaction I had: laughing. He always made death a joke, never whined about his cancer. That was a no-no. Complaining in general was a technical foul for him. He said there were two choices in life: Enjoy the life you had to the fullest, or sit back and complain over the shoes you couldn’t afford.

He liked the first.

I never understood that, how he was always so happy--twenty-four seven; his smile never rested. Maybe he wasn’t so happy, he just pretended that he was so I wouldn’t feel bad. Here’s a little reality check: I always did, always wished I was the sick one; not him. He knew that. Perhaps he was just trying to ease the pain a little bit.

And maybe not.

You never knew with him. He was so unpredictable, but I don’t think he was an actor. Not a very good one anyway. And he’s not that smart, he wouldn’t have known that smiling would make the whole world better (though it did).

He didn’t know.

Nor will he ever. He wanted to smile because he could smile. He wanted to smile because he had strength. More strength than me by far. He was my leg to stand on.

He crippled me.

I wasn’t ready to walk yet, and he left. But I’ll walk without him. He'd want me to. No matter how painful it was on my knees, and I won't let him down.

Never again.