“My granddaughter wrote this before she died. Gwen was proud of this school, and proud of her friends, so I think she’d want all of you to hear what she had to say.”
I unfolded the paper slowly, though my hands were still shaking.
“A few weeks ago,” I read, “I fainted at school, and the nurse sent me to a doctor. They told me there might be something wrong with my heart rhythm.”
The whispers started again.
“I think she’d want all of you to hear what she had to say.”
I swallowed hard and kept reading.
“They wanted to run more tests. But I didn’t tell you, Grandma, because I knew how scared you would be. You’ve already lost so much.” My voice broke. “She wrote this knowing that something might happen to her. And she didn’t want me blaming myself.”
I looked out across the gym full of teenagers and parents.
“But that’s not the most important part.”
I looked back down at the paper.
“She wrote this knowing that something might happen to her.”
“Prom meant a lot to me,” I continued reading. “Not because of the dress or the music. Not even because of my friends, but because you helped me get here. You raised me when you didn’t have to, and you never once made me feel like a burden.”
I paused, barely able to see the page through my tears.
“If you ever find this note, I hope you’re wearing this dress. Because if I can’t be at prom, the person who gave me everything should be.”
I paused, barely able to see the page through my tears.
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