I hate thinking about this. It makes my stomach all knotty. I'm cringing now.

Picture this.
It's been a long day for the whole family.
Step Dads been working.
My sister, and brother, cousin and I have been at school.
My grandma is helping out the family as much as she can. And my mum has been looking after Thomas all day.
Medication check.
Temperature Check.
Cleaning the house.
Keeping her children in order. Paying Bills.
Making sure Thomas is happy.
And Thomas at the time was showing his dedicate signs that he had cancer. His cheeks were bloated and puffed out, he had lost some of his hair, and looked like he was still balding. His eyes were never firm, but glazed. And he was slow, physically and mentally. Sometimes he wasn't always there.
Grandma, Thomas and I sat at the table. My cousin on the stairs. Lauren watching Tv in another room.
My mother and step dad in the kitchen cooking.

And then the conversation started. Fuck I hate this one. I really do. I try to avoid this as much as possible.
I don't remember how it started exactly. Something like this:

"Oliver's not real." Thomas said. And he laughed. Thomas said this often, when he was diagnosed. Oliver at the time was my fictional boyfriend and it amused Thomas to remind me he wasn't real and I would overact, that of course he was real.
"Yes, he is!" I replied.
"I don't know, Caitlin." grandma would tease along.
"He's not real." Tom repeated. He didn't stop laughing during this conversation. Oh, how is laugh changed when he got cancer. Short little bursts that would stop and start up again once he heard or thought something else witty.
"He is." I laughed.
"No. He's not. Your not going to marry him." He said.
"I am."
"No. He's not real." Thomas said. And I pretended to cry to make him laugh.

"When you get married, my going to ruin your wedding." He said and laughed. Practically every time he said something in this conversation he would end with laughing.
"What!" I played along. "How are you going to do that."
"I'm going to make it rain." He laughed.
"Make it rain? Thomas you can't make it rain. How are you going to do that?" I asked. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have asked. But I have no doubt Thomas would have explained himself anyway, even if I didn't ask.

Don't say it. Don't say It Thomas. I don't want to hear it.
"I'm going to die." He cheered and laughed. He cheered. He laughed. I felt sick. I felt like a statue. My arms turned to stone and I think I just looked at him alarmed. Why would he say that? Why would he say that?
He didn't know he was dying. He didn't know. We weren't telling him. Even at the time we didn't know he was going to die.

"Your not going to die, Thomas." My grandma butted in, playing along. But God did she look upset by it. You don't want to hear a 6 year old boy that is dying to happily exclaim they are going to die. There is something very very wrong with that.
But oh, Thomas, he wouldn't give in.
"I am!" He laughed. "I'm going to die and make it rain and Caitlins wedding." And he laughed.
"No your not gonna die, Thomas." Maybe I said that for my benefit than his. He sounded very excited at the idea of dying, and having control over the weather. My mum ran from the room; she couldn't take what she was hearing.
Why Thomas.
But he wouldn't let up.
"I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die." He cheered. And then "at your wedding Caitlin, I'm going to be a ghost and make it rain, and I'm going to ruin the whole thing."

Thomas believed that death meant the power over the weather.
Did he know he was dying?
Who knows?
Sometimes I think, maybe if he wasn't sick he might have said the same thing, and we would have waved him off as being silly.

But the boy was dying. Fuck.
I hated that day. I couldn't handle that day. His excitement. His utter fucking excitement about dying and ruining my wedding was ---- guys I don't even think I can describe that horror.

I can't right now. That memory. It's awful. Like tar all over my body.