We met after I watched her diseased lungs being taken out of her chest cavity.
It was one of the few films I’ve cried over.
I didn’t cry with her when she was in pain, when nurses stuck long needles into her back, or when a coughing fit took over her frail frame. I cried when she found out that she was finally getting a double lung transplant. The look on her face was one of pure and complete surprise, of hoping yet being scared to hope too much. She broke down in tears and there in my theatre seat I did too.
She was beautiful, vibrant, life-full. She carried a sense of grace and confidence that came with knowing she had been close to death. She had the unique talent of making everyone she talked to feel good about themselves. She had cystic fibrosis and it was slowly drowning her.
We met personally at the after party. She wore a bright red dress and marched over to talk to me.
We decided to meet for breakfast the next day. By the afternoon we were walking through Toronto holding hands and in the evening as she packed her bags in her aunts basement I stole a kiss from her.
I dropped her off at the airport and I didn’t want to let her go. We promised to stay in touch, I never realized I would never see her again.
She’s gone, and I get to remember her from that one sunny day we shared.
Some days fly by so quickly that within a week they’re forgotten. Other days seem to go so deliciously slow their sweetness can be savored forever.
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