I hope you’ll see me – Helena Tosch, author

When I’m dying, I hope you’ll see me. Don’t be shy. Pull up a chair.

When I’m dying, you don’t have to pretend I don’t look like shit. Or smell like it. Because we both know shit happens.

When I’m too weak to open my door for you, just come in. I’m ready for you. I want you here.

If you’re scared I’ll see pity in your eyes. Or fear. Or disgust. Know it’s okay. I love you no matter what, and I want you here.

When pain furrows my brow, don’t feel like you need to fix me. Just tell me about that time we snuck that guy through the basement window and got busted when the neighbors called my mom.

When I’m shivering and shriveling, stay. Remind me of the time I took you to a pharmacy three towns away so you could get a pregnancy test without your mom finding out. And how I’ve always been that kind of friend.

When I’m dying, bring me back to the days when life was just beginning. Say the things you’ve never said before. Tell me how much it meant to you that I’d let you lay in my lap and recount stories of your girlfriend’s eggshell cake disasters and sexcapades despite being madly in love with you.

When my son asks you to leave the room so he can change my soiled sheets, come back and tell me how you’ve always loved the way I wake myself up by snoring, then laugh and fall back to sleep.

When my legs won’t let me stand to hug you, get down on the bed and tell me that I’ve never been more beautiful than I am right now. Except for the times I stood up to bullies and assholes. And that one time at band camp.

When I can no longer swallow, grind coffee beans and let me smell them. And remind me that coffee smells way better than it tastes anyway.

When my breath becomes staggered and wet, don’t worry that I might not want you to see me this way. Just hold my hand and tell me I mattered.