It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,81

I have things to do? As I analyze the words and their possible meaning over and over, the ceremony begins. I’m completely lost in thought until Daniel gives me a swift elbow to the ribs. I glance up to find the preacher looking at me expectantly.

“Go,” Daniel says in a gritty whisper.

It’s time to read Madeline’s letter. Slowly, my legs feeling like they’re full of lead, I take agonizing steps toward the podium.

I pull out the yellow lined paper and clear my throat. The grating sound echoes off the gym walls. With a quick shallow breath, I begin to speak.

Chapter 33

“A few days before Madeline died,” I begin, the last word catching in my throat, “she gave me a letter and told me not to read it until she was gone. Of course, I didn’t listen and opened it that night. Her words were inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time. I …” The tears are threatening to overtake me as I remember our last conversation. I have to be strong. For Madeline. “I told her the next day that I’d read the letter. She just smiled and said she knew I would. She also said I wouldn’t back down when the time came for me fulfill her last request. That I would read it again. Today. At her funeral. To all of you. And since I couldn’t keep the first promise to wait to read the letter until she was gone, I will keep this second promise.”

I carefully unfold the letter, gently smoothing out each crease. I don’t need the paper. The words are a part of me. Every single sentence is etched in my mind. I twist the dolphin ring on my finger and a sense of calm washes over me.

Dear RJ,

I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist opening this. You’re not very good about waiting for things. You never have been. Sometimes, I think you make life happen by sheer force of will.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same. I see the frustration and pain in your eyes every time you see me. I tried to fight, I really did. But then I got tired. And as painful as it is to admit, the time has come to let go.

But I want you to know that I have no regrets. I have nothing left to do in my life. I have learned how to love and, more importantly, I have learned how to be loved. I have laughed so hard I thought my insides would burst and I have cried with such passion that I didn’t think my heart could take any more. I have known greatness in people even when facing the worst in others.

I pause, trying not to look at Felicity and failing miserably. I watch with satisfaction as she squirms in her seat. Taking a slow, haggard breath, I continue.

I cannot tell you how scared I was to walk up to you and Daniel last year in the cafeteria. I remember thinking how brave you were to hold your head up when you knew everyone was talking about you. But it was your laughter, mixed with his, that made me feel like I was safe. I know that sounds all sappy and corny, but hey, I’m a sick girl. What can I say?

Oh come on. Laugh. It’s a much better alternative.

Tears are streaming down my face now as I remember the first time we met. But in my mind, she’s the shining star of positive light descending on Daniel and me as we try to stay afloat. Me, not able to admit I was okay with being alone, and him, not sure how to be around someone without waiting for the other shoe to drop. We were laughing because it was the only thing that made us feel brave. She was what made us feel whole.

Do you remember when I was in the hospital after the transplant? We were talking about legacies and what people leave behind for the next generation. That night, as the monitors continued their never-ending watch over my heart, I knew I wasn’t going to live much longer. I can’t explain how, but I knew. There was a sort of peace that came over me. And as I lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about whether the world would remember me, I thought about what I wanted my legacy to be.

Which is why I gave you this envelope and told you not to open it. It’s also why you