I’ve been scared of everything for my whole life. I never had a job. I was homeschooled. I once had a panic attack in our front yard because I knew we were going into town and I let myself think about it. Meg sat on the stairs while Jo held me in the grass for an hour. We missed two buses. So I know I should be scared to die. That’s how people know you aren’t crazy, right? If you’re afraid of it. If you don’t trust yourself to go in the dark because of what might be there. But the best believers are the ones who aren’t scared, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I know what's going to happen. It's just a matter of when.
My sisters know how much I love them already. That’s the hardest thing about telling them my secrets: they know the important part. They just might not know how much it means to me that I got to love them for as long as I did. And Jo… I hope Jo knows that it wasn’t her fault. She couldn't keep me safe from getting sick, even though I know she wanted to. It might be too late to convince her myself, but maybe, just maybe, I can borrow enough of her strength to do it.