How to Live Forever

One wish. Everyone, before they die, is allowed a single wish. You might say there’s no such thing as angels, but I beg to differ. Who is the one at your deathbed, holding your hand, praying as your breathing slows, until you breathe no more? Your parents? Your sibling? Or perhaps, your cousin? Wrong. A divine being, a heavenly messenger, an angel, that’s who. We angels are given a job: to grant that wish (excluding prolonging one’s life).

One bright, summer day in the year of 2000, I was assigned to Emeranth Enmon. I was perplexed when I arrived at my destination, I checked my map, just to be sure. “Promise Hospital,” it read. “Destination: San Diego.” Yep, this was definitely it.

I floated down the eerie, white-walled corridor, searching for room 292, Emeranth’s current residence. Glancing at the papers in my hand, I learned why Emeranth was here.

“Reason for stay: Prolymphotic Leukemia. Treatment: Chemo,” the paper stated.

I had never been assigned a cancer patient; I didn’t know where to begin. I found room 292 and paused at the door. Do I just barge in? It’s not like anyone can see me . . . I shrugged and turned the handle.

“Em, you don’t have to do this. It’s dangerous. Sweety, please,” a graying woman pleaded to a girl lying atop the white infirmary sheets.

The girl in the bed shifted, her face working uncomfortably. “Mother, I’ve already decided.”

“But Em—,” Her mother cried before being cut off.

“No.” Em’s responded coldly, firmly. The older woman rose from her seat, defeated.

Em grabbed her mother’s sleeve. “Come to the operation,” she said, her face flickering with emotion for a split second before returning to its stony mask. Her mother nodded and made a dash for the exit. I blinked in surprise as she passed through me.

Em looked out the shabby, square window to her right. “What do you want?” She asked. I said nothing, as I was unsure that she was talking to me. After a few moments of protracted silence she twisted around to glare directly at my face.

“You, in the white gown. What do you want?”

Ah, she could see me. “You,” I replied.

Em snorted. “Me? What for?”

“Your wish, of course,” I replied, as if she should already have knowledge of it.

Em smirked. “I get a wish? Anything I want?”

“That’s right.”

“Really?” She drew the word out sarcastically. “And who are you, to grant this wish?”

Effects of Cancer in young adults # 5: The adolescent may feel alone in their struggle, scared, and angry.

“Emeranth Enmon, I am your Angel.” I declared.

“Em is fine, thank you,” she spat, her face scrunching into a scowl. Her face cleared a few seconds later. “Do you know why my mother named me Emeranth?” She questioned.

Chemotherapy Side Effect # 6: Forgetfulness and Inability to Concentrate

“Because the flower Amaranth represents longevity. It never wilts. Never dies,” Em told me. Before I could utter a word, she went on, “I’m not going to die. I won’t. I can’t.”

I almost believed her, were it not for her quivering lip. I decided to change the subject. “Do you have any unfulfilled dreams? Things you wish to do?”

Emeranth’s scowl returned immediately. “I have no dreams.”

Stubborn girl, I thought. “You must have something. I can grant you anything. Anything,” I accentuated.

“I told you. I’m fine. I’m receiving a bone marrow transplant soon anyways. I’ll be sure to live, then.” Em attempted to sound confident. I saw right through it, but said nothing.

“But if you were to . . . die, then what would your wish be?” I persisted, trying to squeeze an answer out of her.

This suggestion sent her into a whirlwind of thoughts. Her eyes glazed over and she spoke as if she had rehearsed the words before, “I would want people to remember some piece of me still left in this world. I want them to never forget.”

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, betraying her previous façade. This was the real Emeranth. The girl who was of afraid of being forgotten.

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Your wish is accepted, Emeranth Enmon.” After a moment’s thought I reiterated. “Em.”

She smiled at her name. “Thank you.”

The corners of my lips lifted upwards in a foreign motion, a smile. Em closed her eyes and breathed out, finally at peace with her inner turmoil.

The marrow transplant was performed the next day.

“This method incorporates a high-dose chemotherapy and radiation followed by the infusion of bone marrow from a compatible donor. Approximately 30% of patients die from this procedure.”

Emeranth was among this 30%. She earned her angel wings at exactly 7:32 AM. I approached her bedside, leaning down to tap her forehead. Emeranth shimmered for a fleeting moment, as though veiled with diamonds, before her body disappeared.

And in her place was a single flower. One that blossomed into a myriad of ruby-red petals, gold at the heart. One that went by the name Amaranth, for an amaranth never wilts.

It never dies.