It started like this. On a Friday. The first week of school was over and I had just gotten off the bus, and was walking home. I was in Grade 11, term 1. I was fifteen. Thomas was six.
As I walked home I saw my best friend get off her bus, Viv, she attended a different school from me, and is a year older than me but lived two doors up the road. I had known her since I was five.
We walked home together. She told me about her crush at the time, she was head over heels for, he had been talking about him for a year now. And we got to my house first and she said "Hey, Cate. How are you anyway."
And she asked because she knew my brother had cancer. Of course she did, she lived two doors up and we hung out every week. And I remember smiling. And shrugging my shoulders and saying.
"Yeah I'm pretty good." Because in my neck of the woods I didn't know that Thomas had so little time left. I gave Viv a hug and left her to walk home and I walked inside my house.

Quiet.
I dropped my bag in my room and walked to the bathroom.
Mum, Tim, grandma and Viv's mum say at the kitchen table, all quiet. I could feel the intensity of the mood. I used the bathroom and then appeared back into the kitchen to make myself a cordial. I was trying to guess what was so bad. Where was Thomas? At hospital? What happened? But I was quiet. I didn't want to ask. I wonder why. I just made myself a cordial and stood at the kitchen bench looking at them.
"It's going to happen soon." My mum said. "The nurse visited today, and Thomas has until the end of the weekend."
"Wheres Alex and Jordan?" I asked (Lauren was at her dads house.)
"Up in my room with Thomas." Mum said, "you can go up there too." She said. I didn't. I remember looking at the stairs and turning away and leaving the kitchen. I didn't even drink the cordial. I walked straight outside and to my surprise down came Viv from her house, already near my house she was changed; and Jesus. I've never seen an angel appear like that before. Because she appeared for no reason exactly when I needed her.
It was on the drive way behind my mums car that I fell to the ground and broke down crying, and Viv sat beside me and held me and stroked my hair and I told her. This was it. His time was up. I was in ruins. And Viv was there for me. We didn't go back inside. I didn't even want to look at Thomas. Who knows why? To pretend it wasn't really true.

Instead Viv and I started walking. We walked to the near by shops and she pulled out her wallet and bought junk food. We had donuts, and chips, and chocolate and drinks. And then we walked toward the nearest park. It was a giant oval, with two playgrounds on opposite sides.
We found a spot underneath a tree and she broke out the goodies and we ate in the afternoon, watching kids play their soccer games and people walk their dogs and kids playing on the playground.
I don't think we talked about Thomas. We talked like normal. About whatever. And it was good. It was what I needed.
Eating shitty good during a shitty time with a best friend.

While we were eating I remember an old man who was walking his dog around the oval passed us and stopped.
"What's all that then, are you having a party?" He asked, because there really was a lot of junk food.
And I didn't know what to say. So I lied.
"We're celebrating."
"What are you celebrating?"
"First week of school is done." I said. "We're gonna party every week."
"Your going to get fat." The man said with a smile and kept walking.
Isn't that interesting. The man had no idea that in the same neighbourhood a six year old boy was dying in his mothers bedroom. And it was my brother.
I like to think about that. What would he have said if my brother easy dying?

Viv and I ate until we were full and then slowly walked home. It was late by the time I got home. And by then Jordan and Alex were watching Tv downstairs.
Mum said that I could sleep on her bed tonight next to Thomas(who slept on a hospital bed pushed up right against her bed.) I hadn't had the chance to sleep with Thomas although all my siblings had but I. We were waiting for an appropriate night. And my time has finally come. And I walked those stairs up toward my mothers room, with Viv in silent tow. Thomas lay in his hospital bed, in the dark, lit up by the TV which was playing The Simpsons. And although Thomas didn't look well when he had cancer, he really didn't look well. I climbed onto my mums bed and lay next to him. Viv lay down next to me.
"Hey Thomas." I said.
"Hey." He sounded annoyed. He always did when he had cancer. Annoyed. A six year old annoyed at dying. He didn't know though.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Mmmh." He replied, still annoyed like he didn't want to talk. His eyes were lowered, and his skin pale. And so for maybe an hour I lay next to Thomas, holding his hand while Viv lay next to me, holding mine. And then mum came up and Viv had to go. And then that night. I slept next to Thomas, and mum slept next to me and Tim slept next to mum. And we were all sleeping by each other on Thomas's last night.

You may think the above detail is irrelevant to Thomas actually dying, but in my story it's all relevant, because I'm telling you the story of his death from my point of view, and it started on Friday after getting off the bus and meeting Viv. I don't know why. Because my problems were so significantly worse than Vivs and yet I acted like I was handling life like a pro when really reality was about to tare.
'Maybe because I need to explain that when I found out he was dying for good, I didn't even want to see him, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
But that's not the end of the story.
Thomas didn't pass away during the night, no. His death was much more painful on us.

I woke up at five am. Because Thomas said something.
"What's up Thomas." I asked in the dark but I could see him lying there.
"Hey Caitlin." He said; and then he started to shake.
"Thomas, Thomas." I said as he shook. I say up, and pushed mum awake.
"Mum, mum, he's having a seizure." I said, mum and Tim were up in an instant. The light was on and I could see the six year olds body shake in his bed. I don't remember how it calmed down, but I held Thomas's hand until it stopped. And that was the start of Thomas's last day on earth.
The mini seizure put him into a coma. Thomas was out. And the longest day of my life had begun. By 7 am, Thomas was still in his coma, the nurse had arrived; and so had relatives. Grandma and my cousin, and Jordan had come over. Mum even got her Thomas's father, his step mum and Lauren over. Several chairs were placed around his hospital bed. While some of us sat on chairs the others sat on the bed beside Thomas's bed.
It was a long day, of quick trips down stairs, and then long periods of sitting by Thomas's side. He wasn't alone once.
At one point in the day, a priest from my grandmas church came around and did a blessing or something, while I sat down stairs.
When the nurse had arrived we changed his pee tube so he could easily relieve himself, and every one of us helped in giving him a sponge bath, I cleaned his right foot. And then eventually in the afternoon, we were all up there. A dying boy surrounded by his family. Every one of us, warming one part of his body, by holding it. I was by his head on the left side, awkwardly balancing on a chair for hours, just so I could be by him. Their were boxes of tissues everywhere. And the worst part of all was Thomas's breathing.
Jesus.
His breathing.
When the air went in, it was so painful to listen to, like he couldn't get any and was sucking air extra hard. And his release was like rocks grating against each other, it was so crackly. I've never heard a worse sound in my life. In and out. And it was the breathing of a dying person. Before the Nurse had left she had said that apparently the breathing sounded a lot worse to us then how he felt.  She also said that in a coma all his senses were still active. I mean everyone says that when someone's in a coma don't they: maybe it's true, maybe it's to make us feel better. Either way, you don't doubt at times like that, you just hope that they can hear you.
So we grabbed his favourite books, and since I usually read him a book before bed every night I read him some of his favourite books. Like "The Aliens are Coming," "Where is the Green Sheep," and one about a singing cat.
And when I couldn't read anymore, people reassured him. "You can go now Thomas, it's okay. You can go off to heaven." Mum said.
"You don't have to be in pain anymore Thomas."
"We love you, Thomas."
"You've been such a strong boy, Thomas."
"We are so proud of you, Thomas."
"You can go Thomas. You don't need to be in pain anymore."
But he continued to wheeze. While we were all crowded around him, his breathe became shallow, and it altogether stopped. We all looked toward each other. This was it. He was dead. And then as if gaining his breath after drowning, Thomas sucked in air and started to grittily breath again.

No jokes. No being silly. Or stupid.
I have never wanted my brother to die more than at that point in time.
And you don't understand how painful it is to have to want that so bad. For your brother to die.
I can say my most darkest point in my life was the moment I wanted my six year old brother to die. Because, I couldn't do it. I couldn't listen to him breath like that, out of it to the world. I couldn't sit there and watch that. And I wanted him to be dead. I didn't want him to keep breathing. Keep having cancer.
I don't think I can think of a darker pain then truly, seriously wishing your six year old brother was dead.
But he kept breathing, for hours more. And during those hours we sang. First we sand "You are my Sunshine." When the twins were young and in preschool they would come home and sing that, they loved that song. I have a video on my computer of Thomas singing it all those years ago. We sang it over and over again. And when we didn't sing that we sung the classic "mummy loves you,
mummy loves you,
yes she does.
yes she does.
Mummy really loves you,
mummy really loves you,
yes she does.
Yes she does."
I hope you know that song, because the second verse is lower than the first, and the second verse was when you could hear the crying and the wailing in the singing.
We sang that through every family member, we sang about everyone that loved Thomas; and when we couldn't think of anyone else, we sang everyone all over again, again and again and again.
Upon the evening, Lauren had fallen asleep in a corner of the room. The next to drop off the list was Alex who had been on the bed all day, and finally fell asleep on it. And I was tired. It was tiring. I wanted to be there for Thomas, I wanted to say goodbye to his last breath of air, but crying is exhausting and that's all I had done all day. And I looked at my cousin, Scott and he was tired too. I could tell. We were all quiet. And I stood up and asked him if he was tired. He said he was. I dragged in a thin mattress, and lay it on the ground near Thomas's bed, grabbed a pillow for myself and a pillow for Scott and we both lay at opposite ends of the mattress and fell asleep. I woke up ten minutes later. I sat up, and Scott stirred and sat up as well. Jordan had a stepescope against Thomas.
"He's gone." She said. And slowly leaned back.
And just like that. I missed it. Within ten minutes, I missed my brother dying for real. I was a asleep when he died not even a meter away from me.
The thing is, I don't hate myself for giving up ten minutes early. In fact if I had stayed up I don't think he would have died.
The thing is, the nurse said that his senses still lingered, even though they would fade one by one over the day. But when it comes to death, I noted that Thomas didn't die until his youngest siblings were alseep. Lauren didn't watch. Alex didn't watch. I didn't watch. Scott didn't watch. And honestly. I feel like he died ten minutes after I fell asleep on purpose, so I didn't have to watch him die.
He didn't want me to watch him die.
He had been waiting all day for his siblings to fall sleep so he could die without hurting us.
I know he did. I know in my heart of hearts he died then because he didn't want me seeing. Thomas O'mally. At 9:36pm on a Saturday died of cancer in his mothers room surrounded by the ones that loved him most, from a battle with cancer.
And the world changed forever.
The whole world changed. Not just mine. But yours too.
You wouldn't be reading this if he hadn't died. You wouldn't have known. But you do know, and the world is different.

I didn't even cry. I didn't even wail. My voice was gone. I looked at him. A dead boy. And I walked down stairs, got onto my computer messaged my friend and said "he's gone." And the wrote in my diary.

The entry was just this:

Today Thomas passed away at 9:36 pm. It hurts.

Then Scott was downstairs, and he looked at me, and hugged me tight. He had never hugged me like that before. And we murmured a few words before I slipped into my bed and fell asleep within seconds.

It was done. Thomas was dead.
We waited all day. We waited from 5am for him to die. We waited and he was gone forever. For good. And I didn't cry when it was done. I went to bed. And fell straight asleep.
That's the story of how Thomas died.
A dark memory kept in a box in my mind with locks on it.

And to think. The last thing that Thomas ever said in his life was "Hey Caitlin."

Well, Hey Thomas, wherever you are.