Please, o please don’t let it be him. Please! I thought to myself, but it was. That was the worst day of my life.
The Wethington's were like a second family to me. It was always Mrs. Patty, Mema, Leana, and Pastor Bernie... until now. Pastor Bernie had gotten cancer.

I remember the night clearly, we were all in the living room on the Saturday of March 21, 2013. The sound of laughter and happiness. We told jokes, had fun, and had no clue of what was to happen next. We were ok with that. My dad had come in. His eyes were as red as tomatoes. His head was heavy on his shoulders, “Please, not him, anyone but him.” I cried out.

He said, “Pastor bernie has passed away.

The sound of laughter stopped. My ears strained to hear a small joke or any noise at all. Nothing. After a couple minutes, I finally heard noise. However, it was not the sound I wanted… It was the sound of sorrow, pain, and sadness. Then, it hit me: He is dead. I went to my room to cry. I got so tired from crying I had fallen asleep. I dreamt of all the memories of us. All the way to his last words. I was walking down the church aisle, Pastor Bernie on the other end in a chair. I’ll never forget what he looked like that day, weak, pale, frail, he looked half-way dead. He was in his 70’s yet and it was the only time I saw him as old. I walked down the aisle, knowing what was about to happen. Finally I approached him. He was too weak to stand, too weak to talk. The only thing he could do was whisper. I leaned in, expecting words of wisdom, but I got words far greater than that.

He whispered in my ear, “Thank you.” I was suddenly sliding back. I tried to run to him, but he slipped away. I woke up in my bed. I heard laughter and joy downstairs, so i felt compelled to go down there. As soon as I got there the laughter stopped. My father was sitting at the table staring at me with those red eyes I saw the night before. I observed the room, and there he was, in the corner.

“Pastor bernie! You’re alive!!” I said as I wrapped my arms around him.

He did not hug me back. He was cold, As cold as a dead man. He looked down at me with a face of sorrow. “Sorry Half Pint,” He said as my face turned into confusion. “I’m dead.” I turn my head to dad as fast as light.

“Sorry bud, it’s true.” dad said with those red eyes. “Now go ahead and wake up.”

I woke up in my bed, it had all been a nightmare. I sunk my head in my pillow and began to sob. I learned that day that life is short, make the best of it. When you least expect it, you want to cling to the past to make up the moments you didn’t enjoy; but it’s too late.