Twelve - Greg's dying wish

Dear Sally,

Today I thought of you again. How are you lately? I haven’t been hearing from you in a while. I feel really energized recently, especially after the doctor told me the good news, that you were going to visit me sometime soon. I think you’ll have to dress up before coming in my ward, I hear they only allow neatly dressed girls in. I wouldn’t my dear old sally to feel left out, would I?

But then again, the doctor has been really kind to me. I think he’ll ignore the rules this once, for my sake and for yours too. He told me that the rules are flexible, and that they let visitors in based on their appointments, instead of their dressing. So I think you can come to visit without feeling guilty or left out.

The other day, I asked the doctor if he could give me a date so that I can welcome you when you’re here. But he wouldn’t. According to him, the most he could do was to tell me that I had a month to wait. I also asked him if you could bring that bouquet of flowers I gave you the other time. He said it was alright.

So please remember to bring it. I’d like our meeting to be filled with the smell of those flowers. They were quite expensive. I had to borrow money from your mother to buy it. And you know I don’t like to do that. I really look forward to meeting you. I can’t wait to see you again, Sally.

Yours sincerely
Greg



“That’s the 75th letter he wrote to her,” said Doctor Lee with a worried look on his face, wrinkles evident.

“I know. I can’t help it either. They were really close before she passed,” uttered Mrs Jones.

She turned her attention to the feeble old man who was lying on the bed, his head facing the window. He had been in this position for over four hours. It was as if he was looking at something in the fields, but there was nothing prominent; only the endless blades of grass dancing under the scorching sun.


Then again, Mrs Jones didn’t know much about her father, except the fact that he was dying, willingly.