Living.

Part 5

I haven't written in days. I find no inspiration within these blank white walls. My daily routine runs the same- wake up from a typically horrific dream, wash, eat, walk, read, entertain my many visitors, and sleep only to wake and repeat it all.
I live for my visits with my brothers. They clue me into the life I left behind. The old me they so desperately want me to go back to. Today my oldest brother Alex is taking me fishing, the reason I'm writing. Will I pick this old habit up as easily as I did my writing? I can only hope for my family's sake that I may return to my old lifestyle and hobbies.
The more time I spend with them, the worse I feel. How can these people love me so much, when I give so little in return? I have yet to speak. I can't. It's been months and I struggle to release these words, for dreadfully I fear the outcome. How much it would please them to hear my voice. How much I'd love to give them that joy.
It is from this guilt that I have agreed to read through my old journals, and look through albums of mine. This process scares me immensely. What if I am no longer interested in the things that made me who I once was? What will they do? Will they still love me?
Oh the topic of love. Is that how I describe these feelings I have for Matthew? Comfort comes to mind. He is warm, and secure. He makes me smile, and he is so very gentle when we walk. He holds my hand. It stirs a swell of emotion within me, I feel myself missing what we had, without even knowing what it was. He tells me stories about my voice, and how when he played I would sing, lyrics, words of my own. He brought movies I used to like, we watch them together. I wonder how he will feel if I turn into something different than the woman he once loved?
My mother hasn't visited for days, my brothers explain that she needed to be away and take care of the house. I don't overlook the sadness in their voice. She isn't visiting because I'm not improving, and it makes her sad. I wish there was something I could do. Tonight, after fishing, I will write her a letter saying how sorry I am. How much I wish I could be what she wants me to be.
Alex has arrived, I can only hope this will prove to be a rewarding experience, for if I cannot provide joy to those who love me, what point is there to living?

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Nurse Renee
Tonight, Anna and I wondered the halls lazily as we always do. Discussing the patients, the outcomes we see for them. Coming out of room 303, was a sound we've longed to hear. Anna and I exchanged glances and silently hustled to the door side. There, by the moon lit window, we heard a tune, almost whispered from the girl who refused to speak. Standing in the glow of the evening light, Marina sang the chorus to an old favorite song, quietly, but audibly, in such a pretty key we heard:
"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there's a dream that I dreamed once in a lullaby..."
This news will certainly give her family a new hope for living.