"Her Last Promise"
The hardest part about losing someone isn’t the moment they leave; it’s everything that comes after. The days feel heavier, and the silence they leave behind is deafening.
It’s been a year since my sister, Ada, passed away. She was only 28. I still remember sitting in the hospital room, holding her hand, lying to her that she’d get better, even though I knew we were running out of time. Cancer had taken so much from her—her strength, her voice, her smile. But never her spirit. Even in her last moments, she looked at me with tired eyes and said, ‘Don’t cry too much, okay? I want you to live, for me.’
After she was gone, I couldn’t even step into her room for weeks. Everything still felt like her,her scent lingered in the air, her books were still stacked on the bedside table, and her favorite scarf was hanging on the chair. One day, I found the courage to sit on her bed. That’s when I found the letter, hidden under her pillow.
In her handwriting, shaky but familiar, she had written to me. She told me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me, and how she didn’t want me to stop living because of her. ‘Promise me you’ll find happiness again, even if it feels impossible now,’ she wrote.
That night, I cried until I couldn’t anymore, clutching that letter as if it were her. Losing Ada has been the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, but her words give me a reason to keep going. Some days are better than others, but I carry her with me in everything I do. I’m still learning how to find joy again, just like she wanted.
It’s been a year since my sister, Ada, passed away. She was only 28. I still remember sitting in the hospital room, holding her hand, lying to her that she’d get better, even though I knew we were running out of time. Cancer had taken so much from her—her strength, her voice, her smile. But never her spirit. Even in her last moments, she looked at me with tired eyes and said, ‘Don’t cry too much, okay? I want you to live, for me.’
After she was gone, I couldn’t even step into her room for weeks. Everything still felt like her,her scent lingered in the air, her books were still stacked on the bedside table, and her favorite scarf was hanging on the chair. One day, I found the courage to sit on her bed. That’s when I found the letter, hidden under her pillow.
In her handwriting, shaky but familiar, she had written to me. She told me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me, and how she didn’t want me to stop living because of her. ‘Promise me you’ll find happiness again, even if it feels impossible now,’ she wrote.
That night, I cried until I couldn’t anymore, clutching that letter as if it were her. Losing Ada has been the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, but her words give me a reason to keep going. Some days are better than others, but I carry her with me in everything I do. I’m still learning how to find joy again, just like she wanted.
