• We were running down a hill covered in weeds and leaves. We were hand in hand, smiling and laughing. I don't recall what we were running from that day over fifty years ago, but the memory of such carefree happiness is very fresh in my mind.
    I opened my eyes from the thought and realized that the place and time I'm in now is nowhere near that hill of happiness. Instead I was here in a white room, with one window and a bed. On that bed was my man, the one I spent all my best years with, and those years would soon end.
    The sunlight brightened up the room, but I still felt miserable. A reflection of the outside world shown on the sheets of the bed, warming it just enough to make his eyes open.
    He blinked and stared at me briefly. I searched his face for something, anything. I could tell he was thinking of something to say, but neither of us knew what to say to ease the pain.
    He reached for my hand and gently squeezed it. I could tell he wanted to leave me with another fond memory, though I doubt it could ever replace us running down that hill. Perhaps we were running from terminal illnesses? Why did we ever stop running? Tears began to make the room a blurred mess, but I wouldn't let them fall. Not yet.
    The sheets barely moved when he breathed, almost as if he was holding his breath in between inhaling and exhaling. Every time I notice the stillness of his chest, I hold my breath, hoping that he hasn't left me yet.
    "We...," he started, barely able to make sounds at all, "will meet again, dear. We will be together again...because we have to."
    Suddenly the memory flashed again, but this time when I opened my eyes, I knew he was gone. His grip on my hand loosened, his entire being lie there empty. I wasn't sure whether to shake him back to life or to just cry until I can no longer feel anything. I was numb, yet the pain of loss growing by the second.
    The tears that welled up in my eyes earlier had disapated, but new ones returned. No amount of will power could keep them from dropping off of my face onto his. It appeared as if he were crying too, like it had killed him to kill the part of me that he had held onto for so long: my heart.
    "I love you," I whispered and ran my cheek across his. My hand reached for his one last time, our wedding bands giving way to new pangs of grief and pain. Not even the sun could brighten that room now.