Emma

Have you ever felt as if the world has come crashing around your ears, as if everyone you care about you’ve lost or are losing? Well, that’s the way I feel. Everything I once threw myself into with such passion is now only a way of keeping routine.1

Six weeks ago, my life was perfect, no worries, except perhaps what to wear to the movies next Friday. My best bud Emma and I were like sisters, except better because we weren’t always in each others’ faces. And now? Now I’m on the edge of a fiery pit, and if I don’t jump then I’m going to fall in.2

Emma hadn’t been feeling well for a while, and her doctor had sent her to the hospital for tests. We didn’t talk for a while after she came home. I just figured she was tired from her stint at the hospital. Besides, they wouldn’t have her results immediately.3

Then, about a week later, she turned up on my doorstep unannounced. Her eyes her red and puffy - she looked like she’s been crying all night.4

“I’ve got Leukemia.” There it was. All in one big rush. 5

“The doctors say I need to start chemotherapy right away. But they don’t think I’ll...” Her voice broke off. My poor, scared best friend, who once confessed that her only fear was dying young and not having the time to live her dreams.6

I knew it was true. I mean, doctors are professionals, and they’d double check something serious like Leukemia. I couldn’t face reality. I risked losing my best friend. I couldn’t imagine life without Emma. I just wanted to wake up, to realize it was one horrible nightmare.7

So here I am, nearly a month after I found out about Emma’s illness. I’ve tried to be supportive. But some days I can’t bear to face the hospital. Can’t bear to see my once beautiful, now gaunt and bald from the chemotherapy, best friend. Can’t bear to see the doctors who have told her she has five more months to live.8

They say that every cloud has a silver lining. But nothing could even begin to lift the cloud that covers my life now. Every evening I watch the sunset, and I know Emma will be doing the same from her bed at the hospital. And every night I go to bed wondering if this is the night. The night my uneasy sleep will be interrupted. The voice at the other end telling me that my amazing best friend, who offered me her shoulder before I had the chance to tell her I was sad, is gone forever. Every day I go to the hospital, and watch her slipping further and further away from me. Every day I have to drag myself away from the hospital, and I always turn around one last time to glance at her window. And each time, I say to myself, 'I love you, Emma. I will never forget you.'9