December 5,1889

I've been taking care of Erik for two long weeks. Every day the pain he suffers is horrible. I am never for sure what he suffers from. He has a terrible cough and, is most of the time, short of breath. I

always told him that living down here for 20 years couldn't be good for someone. He denies my accusations saying Erik does not catch a cold from the damp walls. The walls have done nothing but

protect him. That what he is dying from does not come upon someone in the night. He says he has been slowly dying for months. That is all he would tell me, but I don't need his words to fill in the

blanks. As he mentioned before, he is dying of love. I don't understand! I am here now, why is he still dying? Well, whining like a child will do nothing. What Erik needs now is constant care. He has to

be constantly dosed with morphine. Even though I try to deny it, I can see the life slowly drift from him each day. Some days are better than others I will admit. On those days he likes to talk about the

life he had wanted to give me. The house we would have had together. The things and many places he wanted me to see with him. Oh God, why do you torture me so? It is so hard not to cry. To think

that I could be living a happy life with him right now. He would be healthy and we would be living a life of music and happiness. I was such a foolish child. The thing that hurts the most is that I don't

think I will have the chance to fix the damage I've done.

December 9, 1889

It seems everything I do isn't working. His condition isn't getting any better. I'm afraid that I will lose him any day now. One day he asked me to sing for him. I prayed to God to give me strength for

that was the hardest thing I had to do. As I began to sing, my voice kept getting chocked up by the many tears that were streaming down my face. I apologized to him saying I don't think I can sing

now. He told me listen to the music in you Christine, your emotion should not hinder but help your singing to grow stronger. I then chose a song that had he had sung to me before. The song was a

beautiful lullaby. As I started to sing, I noticed how he began to relax and shut his eyes. I thought he was dying. I stopped and rushed to him shaking his shoulder, telling him to wake up. He opened

his eyes and looked at me. How those eyes still have the power to pierce my soul. He asked me why I had stopped and why I was shaking him so. I told him that I was afraid he was dying. He told me

that not at this moment, but he knew that his time was near. I told him that I wasn't ready to lose him. He said that even when he died, he would always be my angel, my angel of music. He asked me

to sing another song to him because my singing pleased him very much. I did as he said, but half way through the song I noticed that there were tears in his eyes. Oh how I hate to see him cry . . .