I remember
the day we first heard. Your face was so hopeful, so earnest in the belief you
would get well. And so was mine.
Days passed
and you seemed to get weaker. But always, you had a brave smile, saying that it
could only get worse before it could get better. And I believed you, believed
in your faith, believed in our love.
Days turned
to weeks and your hair began to fall out. Long, shining strands of golden
honey-brown, scattered across your pillows, your clothes and mine. And yet, you
still smiled bravely, cheerfully donning a wig. And still, we believed you
would get well.
The weeks
turned to months and at last we realized the truth. Ironically, it was a warm
spring afternoon that day you finally cried, encircled in my arms. I held you tight;
cradling your head against my heart, hoping my love would be enough to pull you
through.
It wasn't.
I remember
the day-was it only a day ago?-it feels like centuries have passed-that I last
held you in my arms. You trembled as the last of your meager strength slipped
from you. Every breath was a battle, every feeble beat of your heart a war.
Your eyes opened-I always thought your eyes so beautiful-and you looked at me.
Our eyes met and I nodded, understanding the unspoken words. You smiled and
closed your eyes, your breath warm against my chest. I felt the last spasm,
heard your sharp intake of breath as the last bit of pain swept through you and
left for good. And then I could finally drop my pretenses of strength and sob
acrimoniously over your lifeless body.
Strangely
though, I am glad you're gone. The pain and suffering that tortured you daily
is gone, the only thing left behind is your small, fragile body. You lost so
much weight; you were feather-light in my arms. The tears I expected to shed
bitterly for many years are already gone, faded away in the realization you are
happy where you are.
I will
never believe you were happy to go. In fact, I think it took all your strength
to not to succumb to the aching pain of having to leave. But I believe once the
initial fear of passage passed, you became happy and contented.
I know of
only one way to say a final goodbye to you, love. I contemplated suicide, but
realized that you who were so full of vitality and life and innocence would
never forgive me if I took my own life. So now I make a promise, a vow, to make
your dream of peace a reality.
And
perhaps, love; I can say a final goodbye and let go.
~End~
~I'm starting to like writing death…is that good or bad?
Anyways, write me on your comments. Oh, and btw, Relena died from leukemia, a
form of cancer~
~Aimee~
