Dear Lucy... -- LiveWire Teen Forums

My cousin wrote this. I think it's really good. He sent it to me, and I'd said I'd post it since he didn't want to himself...

You know, it's funny how someone can accidentally walk into your life for such a short time, leave footprints on your heart, and walk out again. That's exactly what Lucy did, and what an inspiration she was.

Dear Lucy,

I remember the first time we met, about a month ago. You sat laughing and smiling with my twin sister, and I'll admit the first thing I asked myself is 'why is she bald?' And then it hit me, of course. You had cancer. I can't say I've known anyone with cancer before, but from what my sister had told me, you had gone through so much, proved so many doctors wrong, and fought so hard. She also told me that one of your biggest dreams was being asked to a dance, and so I decided that that was exactly what I was going to do.

It wasn't the easiest thing for me to do. I lacked self-confidence, and am no ladies man. After chatting with you and seeing you smile, I was even more inspired to ask you.

A couple of days later, we met again. Despite the butterflies in my stomach and my sweaty palms, I eventually plucked up enough courage to 'pop the question', and how glad I am I did.

"Do you want to go to a dance with me?" I asked, admiring my slightly-scuffed shoes.

Then came something I did not expect. You began to cry. Not knowing whether I'd said the wrong thing, I quickly said that you didn't have to if you didn't want to and awkwardly offered you a tissue from my trouser pocket, which you graciously accepted. Through your tears, you began to smile. You apologized for crying, and said that that was the nicest thing anyone had ever asked you. I smiled to myself. My plan was working.

Every free minute of my time was spent organizing every little thing during the week before the dance. From the limo, to the flowers, to my biggest plan of all, shaving my head. Providing my hair was well-past my collar, that was harder to do than anything. I reminded myself that it was for a worthy cause, and that it would grow back. So a couple of days before the dance, I did it in hope of surprising you. During those couple of weeks, I had also become good friends with you. We hung out and enjoyed each other's company. You intrigued me.

Exactly a week ago, I picked you up at about 6:30. I removed my cap, exposing my bald head, like that out of Rascal Flatt's 'Skin'. You again began to sob, and then jokingly said that I better be glad your make-up was waterproof. You looked so beautiful, and were not afraid to show your scars, which I really admired. I then led you out the house, telling you to close your eyes. When you saw the limo, your face lit up and you began to laugh. Seeing your face was by far the greatest reward I could have received; it was priceless.

We, along with my sister and her boyfriend drove to the dancing hall, where you received red carpet treatment as if it were the Oscars. Something well-deserved. I held your hand, and although you were weak, you bravely used all your energy to walk gracefully inside.

We then talked, laughed, and most importantly danced the night away to your favourite songs. It was clear that by the end of the evening, you had little energy left, but you assured me that you were alright. I carried you to the car, and drove you home, where we said our fond goodbyes. You thanked me for such a wonderful night, and said that it was the best night of your life.

A couple of days later, you gave me a letter. It read...

"Dear Billy,

Thank you so much for making my wildest dreams come true the other night. No one has made me feel so special or worthy. You're a great guy, and I'm honoured I got to call myself your 'date'. I love talking with you and am so glad to have met you. Thank you again for always being there for me.

Lots of love,

Lucy."

Everything was going great. I continued to hang out and talk and laugh with you. A few days later, however, I received a dreaded phone call saying that you had some sort of infection and were in bad shape. I immediately was worried sick, and went to visit you as soon as I could.

My sister was right. You were in bad shape. I sat by your bedside, holding your hand while you slept. You woke up, and managed to give me a weak smile before uttering one last request. A first kiss. I leaned over you, and as gently as I could, kissed your soft lips and stroked your cheek. You smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen you smile. I was so happy.

I visited you the next day, and the next. We shared more 'first kisses', although the periods you were conscious drastically began decreasing. This morning was the last time I'd visit you to give you your last 'first kiss'. At 8:30am, with me by your side, you grew your angel wings and finally lost your long battle with cancer. It still hasn't hit me yet, Lucy, but I want you to know that you've shown me so much about life and about strength in the short time I've known you.

A couple of minutes before you took your last breath, you opened your eyes and whispered "Thank you, Billy." Just like that, you were gone. A gorgeous angel.

I will never forget you, or our first kiss. And no Lucy, thank you.

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