Her Wish

By: Ella Lewis

It’s a drowning desire. I believe in letting go, but I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to forget what I have lost.

I was being selfish the day I saw her smile for the last time. It always brought a soft warmth wherever she went like a sunrise. But that one was more of a sunset than anything else.

She had stage four lung cancer, and I didn’t know her before it. At my church I saw her when I felt like seeing people, but that was all. Her name was Paula Ball. I called her Sister Ball.

My dad made Paula soup in the cold wrath of February, so of course he forced me to go with him to give it to her. I was watching my favorite show at the time, and I regrettably yelled at him about not wanting to go. Giving up my losing argument, I went with him.

With her husband by her side, Sister Ball had a bony hand on her brown dog. When we walked in, the dog had a look in its eye as though it knew something would happen that no one in the room could comprehend.

We talked blandly for an hour. There was nothing positive anyone could think of, so Sister and Brother Ball told the story of how they met. I didn’t pay much attention to it though.

Now all I feel is guilt. When we decided to take leave for them to eat, Paula held my hand and said she would love to see me again. But I couldn’t. A week after that day, she left. For good.

I want to forget, but it doesn’t seem like a possibility. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. One thing I know for sure is that I believe in hope. I know it will bring me wherever the dead go, when the time is right, to fulfill her wish.