There is a painting in our livingroom from my native country, the Dominican Republic. I am in love with this painting because it reminds me of my happiest times growing up with my sweet grandmother. One day, while looking at the painting, it occurred to me that if heaven exists —and we all wish it does exist—I would like my scene to be similar to that in the painting.
My fiancé has trouble talking to me about my death; obviously, he doesn’t want to lose me. But I found a way to make him a bit more comfortable when speaking about me leaving him first, at least that’s what I’ve sensed, and it is related to this painting. Of course, there is no easy way to talk about death.
“Look closer,” I tell him.
“If I ever leave you first, look closer at the painting from our livingroom. You will see me and my grandmother together. I’ll be running through the sugarcane fields and wondering if you are watching me. Wishing you were there with me.”
He takes a deep breath and looks at me with sadness in his eyes while holding my hands. He does pretty well with holding his emotions in but I can see his fears. I have them too.
“Eventually you will join me, if that is still your wish years from now. Either way, know that I am near,” I say to him.
“I want to be with you wherever you are. Take me with you,” he says to me.
“I am not allowed to take you with me if I go first. But always remember to look closer. I will not be too far away from you.”
I notice a peaceful look on his face. After all …
… Hope is the last thing we lose. And hopefully it will never be lost.