I didn't think anything could hurt more than what I've been going through in school. Obviously, every time I'm shoved into a locker hinge, it feels like I'm being slapped on the back with a metal folding chair, like the ones you see in those wrestling matches? In my case, however, there's no script, no half-hearted hits, and no way to fake the pain.

However, is it possible to just pretend that my last letter never happened? I was going to do it, really. I was going to do it after school that day; I had it all planned out. The plan was to leave school, and go to one last Sing-Along Sound of Music, to have just a few more moments of joy for me- any peace of mind that I could squeeze out from the bliss of being in a room full of people like me, full of people that won't look at me twice. It's the only time I enjoy being ignored. All I needed were those few hours in that room where I could be happy being myself.

I never made it to Sing-Along Sound of Music, though. After French-3 at school, all I could think about was getting to the hospital. Just get to the hospital. A few more minutes, and you'll be at the hospital, Kurt. You'll go into your big, chubby old man's room, and he'll have that stupid grin on his face as he chuckles and says, "Oops." Then, you'll pretend to get mad, but really you'll just be glad that he's alive. Of course, you'll start negotiating taking away his cookies and reducing the calorie count of his diet. "Saffron is your friend," you'll say. And you'll hug him and kiss him on the cheek and tell him to never, ever, ever scare you like that again. Yes. That's exactly what's going to happen.

"…he hasn't regained consciousness… lack of blood to his brain… keeping him comatose… no guarantees… damage… the lack of oxygen…"

"When is he gonna wake up?"

"I don't know."

That's all I remember, really, before I made myself enter his room. I don't think you could call it a room, even. It was just the hospital bed and the stupid machines surrounded by four curtain walls. There wasn't much room to move around; he walls were too close together. No doubt, I immediately spoke to someone about moving him. There was no way my father was remaining comatose in that sad excuse for a room.

…comatose.

You should've seen him on the bed. There were so many wires running in and out of him, and he wasn't moving at all. There was all this annoying beeping and the breathing machine thing that – holy shit – was keeping him alive, I think, but the sounds were just so incessant and irritating and I just wanted to be with my father in peace and quiet and wow there were so many wires, too many wires-

He didn't squeeze back. I held his hand, and he just… didn't do anything. He usually- you have to understand that he squeezes back. He's a squeezer: hands, shoulders, hugs. He squeezes. But he didn't. My heart was falling apart, and my dad wasn't squeezing the pieces back together.

But I'm stronger now. I have more to be strong for… because he's awake. That was all just a week and a half ago, but now, he's awake. He's awake.

I'd almost forgotten what it was like to lose someone, until this happened. My mom, she… Well, you'd know by now, but she died when I was 8. I was a very young, na�ve age, then. I didn't really know what was happening at the time, and it just kind of blew up in my face. All of a sudden, she was gone.

When I thought about losing my dad, and when I was faced with the very, very real possibility that I actually would, I couldn't breathe properly. I tried everything I could think of to keep him alive and get some oxygen into his fucking brain. He's too important to me, and there's no way I'd let him leave me so soon. There was no way I was losing someone so important to me again.

...

That was when I realized that I couldn't go through with killing myself.

Every horrible and wrong thing that I felt this past week, everything anxious, sad, vulnerable, empty… dad would've gone through that tenfold. I'd think about each time I cried, and that he would've cried harder and longer over me.

He gave up so much for me. He worked entirely too hard for me. He fucking kept me even after-

He loved me. Loves me. He's all I could ever dare to ask for in a father, and I let myself forget that. What kind of person would I be if I left when he needed me the most? I never could betray the greatest man I've ever known like that.

I can be here for him now. I'll take care of him, and this is what's going to keep me here. Living, at least, for now.

So I guess we have a little more time, Seven Billioner. I can still wait.

-Kurt