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问问~~~~25岁以后就要开始用抗衰老的护肤品么？？？
人气：7273 回复：41
25岁以后就要开始用抗氧化和抗衰老的护肤品么？？？什么产品比较好呢？学习一下
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没有听说过哎。。。偶一窍不通。。。
恩 那天看到一篇帖子 所以想到这个问题 呵呵
专家哦 哈哈
亲 能推荐一下么？
有效果来说说哈
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用其他账号登录：25岁就抗皱啦 会不会太早
18:00:24 被作者重新编辑
还不知道你什么肤质呢
18:00:34 被作者重新编辑
我是混合 偏干 &
18:40:55 被作者重新编辑
眼霜可以涂启来了
19:29:54 被作者重新编辑
抗老。这个阶段好像叫 轻熟肌。
22:27:56 被作者重新编辑
25岁并不是什么“需不需要抗皱”的风水岭。
因为每个人的皮肤状况是不同的。
保养好的人，可能这个时候，还是只需要补水就好。
但以我们现在一般的现况来说：我们都是早衰的一代。
熬夜，心情不好，空气污染，紫外线什么的都会提早带来衰老。
所以，你如果觉得皮肤状况不好了，可以提早到20几岁，例如我，22岁，就开始抗衰老了。
（这完全取决于你皮肤的状况）
如果你心里没数，那就可以在 补水保湿的基础护理上加上轻度抗衰老的产品。
（例如：加上轻度抗衰老的精华液）
眼霜是一定要用的，但只要把保湿做到完美就好。
牌子啊，产品啊，都很多。
我的不一定适合你，所以要你自己去试。
但我的经验是：用了2-4周还没什么效果的产品，以后不会再买了。
22:56:51 被作者重新编辑
混合型 &三角区域很容易发痘痘 办公室窗户不开 我立马就发 &黑眼圈严重&
09:43:00 被作者重新编辑
要用适合你的品牌，咱们论坛里不是有小样吗，你可以收一些，感受一下，觉得不错的在去买正装，推荐你试试兰芝的，还可以，雅诗兰黛也不错，看你个人吧~没必要上来就用特高端的~一步步的来
11:57:51 被作者重新编辑
其实就只需要注意保湿就行了，不需要用那些功能性的护肤品~
16:40:13 被作者重新编辑
女人25岁以后就会变老，这是真的，我现在明显感觉到皮肤不如以往，特别，以前我就用雅芳之类的，25岁之后我改用稍微好些的护肤品了，现在用雅诗兰黛，但还没找到特别合适的，我用的是雅诗兰黛美白这一系列，感觉效果一般，没有白，还感觉有些干。还有25岁之后真的要注意保养身体，内调外养啊，否则用什么护肤品都不行
22:09:37 被作者重新编辑
就不用，男的经得起啊，哈哈哈~~~
21:16:10 被作者重新编辑
欧莱雅男士！
15:51:36 被作者重新编辑
赞一个，我真心觉得是这样，我的皮肤超级差，我感觉我现在保养就不早，当然说保养，现在很多女孩子初中就开始保养了。之前去威莎世纪做活动的时候，竟然看到97年的在里面做面部护理~这才多大点的女孩儿，现在的情况真没法说
23:19:12 被作者重新编辑
25岁以上就用开始用抗衰老产品了，还有保湿产品一起，晚上用抗衰老的，白天可以用保湿的，保湿的娇韵诗的保湿系列不错，还有纪梵希的，抗衰老的IPSA黑晶系列的自律菁华很好，保湿和调节肌肤还有抗衰老提拉紧致效果很好，配合他家的按摩滚轮效果更好了。
18:09:42 被作者重新编辑
你的皮肤状况很重要啊，有的人25了皮肤还像22的，有的人25了像30的，这两种人需要使用的护肤品不一样的。我也25快26了，在用伊索香芹籽和雅顿黄金导航，这两个都很好用，特别是后者~
20:42:05 被作者重新编辑
22:49:14 被作者重新编辑
还是看肤质吧，主要还是应该保湿补水
16:34:41 被作者重新编辑
我觉得倩碧无油，fresh保湿都蛮好的
16:59:54 被作者重新编辑
我皮肤状况还行 &中性皮肤 就是三角区域 空气一不好容易发痘痘 & & 。。。脸部皮肤还行 现在就觉得开始有点眼纹了 &黑眼圈也较重 用了几种眼霜都没什么效果 & 皱纹到木有 &只是看到朋友神马的 笑起来开始有鱼尾纹了 偶就想在要不要换护肤品了&
09:58:40 被作者重新编辑
是的 特别是工作后的几年 觉得老的特别的快 &
09:59:25 被作者重新编辑
本部落精华帖
本部落热门帖25岁要用什么抗衰老的护肤品
25岁要用什么抗衰老的护肤品
25岁-29岁是控制肌肤衰老的关键期，特别是需要注意眼睛四周、下巴及嘴角周围，因为这些都是最容易出现细纹的部位，如果忽略了护理，细纹马上就会找上头来，因此，25岁以后要开始使用专用的护肤品抵抗衰老现象白天——特别注重皮肤表面水脂质膜的修复和加强，选择成分足、质量好、添加保湿成分、防护性强的日霜是非常重要的。抹润肤产品时，要让其慢慢渗入皮肤，用中指轻轻画圈按摩，注意不要使劲揉搓皮肤。晚上——眼部是夜间保养时的重点，选择眼部保养品时，尽量以滋润补水为主。面部使用含有滋润、营养成分的晚霜。推荐品牌----KOSE活力精华保湿乳玉兰油多效凝采系列玉兰油新生唤肤系列佰草集的美白嫩肤面膜（定期做面膜，补水保湿）
推荐高丝的虾青素 也就是青春澄颜 初步抗衰老 针对25开始的皮肤
给你推荐一个美国进口的Lumi康魄有个产品是深海鲨鱼丸。建议坐办公室的和作息不规律的“忙女”们搜索一下女明星们的美容配方！你会看到大S、黎姿这些“中年女星”的皮肤和容貌都很年轻！大家都是见到了的，这不光是化妆的功劳！她们食谱里都有一个长期服用的东西就是--深海鲨鱼丸！（请详见大S的《美容大王》一书，网上有下载全本的）而且Lumi的鲨鱼丸也是美国研发和进口的，对改善皮肤情况很有效果，也推荐姐妹们试试！顺便一说，大家天天封闭在写字楼里对着电脑，皮肤能好的了？没事有事就要出差加班没规律，脸色当然不好看了！姐妹们喜欢吃麻辣烫和火锅之类的，就稍微改改胃口，吃点Lumi的鲨鱼丸，少吃点刺激性食物吧～You’re the first boy I’ve ever kissed,” she said to me.  It was a few days before the new year, and Jamie and I were standing at the Iron Steamer Pier in Pine Knoll Shores. To get there, we’d had to cross the bridge that spans the Intracoastal Waterway and drive a little way down the island.  Nowadays the place has some of the most expensive beachfront property in the entire state, but back then it was mainly sand dunes nestled against the Maritime National Forest. “I figured I might have been,” I said. “Why?” she asked innocently. “Did I do it wrong?” She didn’t look like she’d be too upset if I’d said yes, but it wouldn’t have been the truth.  “You’re a great kisser,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze.  She nodded and turned toward the ocean, her eyes getting that far-off look again. She’d been doing that a lot lately. I let it go on for a while before the silence sort of got to me. “Are you okay, Jamie?” I finally asked. Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked me. I ran my hand through my hair and gave her one of those looks. “You mean before now?” I said it like James Dean would have, the way Eric had told me to say it if a girl ever asked me that question. Eric was pretty slick with girls.  “I’m serious, Landon,” she said, tossing me a sidelong glance.  I guess Jamie had seen those movies, too. With Jamie, I’d come to realize, I always seemed to be going from high to low and back to high again in less time than it takes to swat a mosquito. I wasn’t quite sure if I liked that part of our relationship yet, though to be honest, it kept me on my toes. I was still feeling off balance as I thought about her question.  “Actually, I have,” I said finally. Her eyes were still fixed on the ocean. I think she thought I was talking about Angela, but looking back, I’d realized that what I’d felt for Angela was totally different from what I was feeling right now. “How did you know it was love?” she asked me. I watched the breeze gently moving her hair, and I knew that it was no time to pretend I was something that I actually wasn’t. “Well,” I said seriously, “you know it’s love when all you want to do is spend time with the other person, and you sort of know that the other person feels the same way.” Jamie thought about my answer before smiling faintly.  “I see,” she said softly. I waited for her to add something else, but she didn’t, and I came to another sudden realization. Jamie may not have been all that experienced with boys, but to tell you the truth, she was playing me like a harp. During the next two days, for instance, she wore her hair in a bun again. On New Year’s Eve I took Jamie out to dinner. It was the very first real date she’d ever been on, and we went to a small waterfront restaurant in Morehead City, a place called Flauvin’s. Flauvin’s was the kind of restaurant with tablecloths and candles and five different pieces of silverware per setting. The waiters wore black and white, like butlers, and when you looked out the giant windows that completely lined the wall, you could watch moonlight reflecting off the slowly moving water. There was a pianist and a singer, too, not every night or even every weekend, but on holidays when they thought the place would be full. I had to make reservations, and the first time I called they said they were filled, but I had my mom call them, and the next thing you knew, something had opened up. I guess the owner needed a favor from my father or something, or maybe he just didn’t want to make him angry, knowing that my grandfather was still alive and all.  It was actually my mom’s idea to take Jamie out someplace special. A couple of days before, on one of those days Jamie was wearing her hair in a bun, I talked to my mom about the things I was going through. “She’s all I think about, Mom,” I confessed. “I mean, I know she likes me, but I don’t know if she feels the same way that I do.” “Does she mean that much to you?” she asked. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Well, what have you tried so far?” “What do you mean?” My mom smiled. “I mean that young girls, even Jamie, like to be made to feel special.” I thought about that for a moment, a little confused. Wasn’t that what I was trying to do? “Well, I’ve been going to her house every day to visit,” I said.  My mom put her hand on my knee. Even though she wasn’t a great homemaker and sometimes stuck it to me, like I said earlier, she really was a sweet lady.  “Going to her house is a nice thing to do, but it’s not the most romantic thing there is. You should do something that will really let her know how you feel about her.” My mom suggested buying some perfume, and though I knew that Jamie would probably be happy to receive it, it didn’t sound right to me. For one thing, since Hegbert didn’t allow her to wear makeup-with the single exception being the Christmas play-I was sure she couldn’t wear perfume. I told my mom as much, and that was when she’d suggested taking her out to dinner.  “I don’t have any money left,” I said to her dejectedly. Though my family was wealthy and gave me an allowance, they never gave me more if I ran through it too quickly. “It builds responsibility,” my father said, explaining it once.  “What happened to your money in the bank?” I sighed, and my mom sat in silence while I explained what I had done. When I finished, a look of quiet satisfaction crossed her face, as if she, too, knew I was finally growing up. “Let me worry about that,” she said softly. “You just find out if she’d like to go and if Reverend Sullivan will allow it. If she can, we’ll find a way to make it happen. I promise.” The following day I went to the church. I knew that Hegbert would be in his office. I hadn’t asked Jamie yet because I figured she would need his permission, and for some reason I wanted to be the one who asked. I guess it had to do with the fact that Hegbert hadn’t exactly been welcoming me with open arms when I visited. Whenever he’d see me coming up the walkway-like Jamie, he had a sixth sense about it-he’d peek out the curtains, then quickly pull his head back behind them, thinking that I hadn’t seen him. When I knocked, it would take a long time for him to answer the door, as if he had to come from the kitchen.  He’d look at me for a long moment, then sigh deeply and shake his head before finally saying hello. His door was partially open, and I saw him sitting behind his desk, spectacles propped on his nose. He was looking over some papers-they looked almost financial-and I figured he was trying to figure out the church budget for the following year. Even ministers had bills to pay. I knocked at the door, and he looked up with interest, as if he expected another member of the congregation, then furrowed his brow when he saw that it was me.  “Hello, Reverend Sullivan,” I said politely. “Do you have a moment?” He looked even more tired than usual, and I assumed he wasn’t feeling well. “Hello, Landon,” he said wearily. I’d dressed sharply for the occasion, by the way, with a jacket and tie. “May I come in?” He nodded slightly, and I entered the office. He motioned for me to sit in the chair across from his desk. “What can I do for you?” he asked. I adjusted myself nervously in the chair. “Well, sir, I wanted to ask you something.” He stared at me, studying me before he finally spoke. “Does it have to do with Jamie?” he asked. I took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I wanted to ask if it would be all right with you if I took her to dinner on New Year’s Eve.” He sighed. “Is that all?” he said. “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ll bring her home any time you’d need me to.” He took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief before putting them back on. I could tell he was taking a moment to think about it.  “Will your parents be joining you?” he asked. “No, sir.” “Then I don’t think that will be possible. But thank you for asking my permission first.” He looked down at the papers, making it clear it was time for me to leave. I stood from my chair and started toward the door. As I was about to go, I faced him again. “Reverend Sullivan?” He looked up, surprised I was still there. “I’m sorry for those things I used to do when I was younger, and I’m sorry that I didn’t always treat Jamie the way she should have been treated. But from now on, things will change. I promise you that.” He seemed to look right through me. It wasn’t enough.  “I love her,” I said finally, and when I said it, his attention focused on me again. “I know you do,” he answered sadly, “but I don’t want to see her hurt.” Even though I must have been imagining it, I thought I saw his eyes begin to water. “I wouldn’t do that to her,” I said. He turned from me and looked out the window, watching as the winter sun tried to force its way through the clouds. It was a gray day, cold and bitter.  “Have her home by ten,” he finally said, as though he knew he’d made the wrong decision. I smiled and wanted to thank him, though I didn’t. I could tell that he wanted to be alone. When I glanced over my shoulder on my way out the door, I was puzzled to see his face in his hands. I asked Jamie an hour later. The first thing she said was that she didn’t think she could go, but I told her that I’d already spoken to her father. She seemed surprised, and I think it had an effect on how she viewed me after that. The one thing I didn’t tell her was that it looked almost as though Hegbert had been crying as I’d made my way out the door. Not only didn’t I understand it completely, I didn’t want her to worry. That night, though, after talking to my mom again, she provided me with a possible explanation, and to be honest, it made perfect sense to me. Hegbert must have come to the realization that his daughter was growing up and that he was slowly losing her to me. In a way, I hoped that was true. I picked her up right on schedule. Though I hadn’t asked her to wear her hair down, she’d done it for me. Silently we drove over the bridge, down the waterfront to the restaurant. When we got to the hostess stand, the owner himself appeared and walked us to our table. It was one of the better ones in the place. It was crowded by the time we arrived, and all around us people were enjoying themselves. On New Year’s people dressed fashionably, and we were the only two teenagers in the place. I didn’t think we looked too out of place, though.  Jamie had never been to Flauvin’s before, and it took her just a few minutes to take it all in. She seemed nervously happy, and I knew right away that my mom had made the right suggestion. “This is wonderful,” she said to me. “Thank you for asking me.” “My pleasure,” I said sincerely. “Have you been here before?” “A few times. My mother and father like to come here sometimes when my father comes home from Washington.” She looked out the window and stared at a boat that was passing by the restaurant, its lights blazing. For a moment she seemed lost in wonder. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. “So are you,” I answered. Jamie blushed. “You don’t mean that.” “Yes,” I said quietly, “I do.” We held hands while we waited for dinner, and Jamie and I talked about some of the things that had happened in the past few months. She laughed when we talked about the homecoming dance, and I finally admitted the reason I’d asked her in the first place. She was a good sport about it-she sort of laughed it off cheerfully-and I knew that she’d already figured it out on her own.  “Would you want to take me again?” she teased. “Absolutely.” Dinner was delicious-we both ordered the sea bass and salads, and when the waiter finally removed our plates, the music started up. We had an hour left before I had to take her home, and I offered her my hand.  At first we were the only ones on the floor, everyone watching us as we glided around the floor. I think they all knew how we were feeling about each other, and it reminded them of when they were young, too. I could see them smiling wistfully at us. The lights were dim, and when the singer began a slow melody, I held her close to me with my eyes closed, wondering if anything in my life had ever been this perfect and knowing at the same time that it hadn’t.  I was in love, and the feeling was even more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be. After New Year’s we spent the next week and a half together, doing the things that young couples did back then, though from time to time she seemed tired and listless. We spent time down by the Neuse River, tossing stones in the water, watching the ripples while we talked, or we went to the beach near Fort Macon.  Even though it was winter, the ocean the color of iron, it was something that both of us enjoyed doing. After an hour or so Jamie would ask me to take her home, and we’d hold hands in the car. Sometimes, it seemed, she would almost nod off before we even got home, while other times she would keep up a stream of chatter all the way back so that I could barely get a word in edgewise.  Of course, spending time with Jamie also meant doing the things she enjoyed as well. Though I wouldn’t go to her Bible study class-I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her-we did visit the orphanage twice more, and each time we went there, I felt more at home. Once, though, we’d had to leave early, because she was running a slight fever. Even to my untrained eyes, it was clear that her face was flushed. We kissed again, too, though not every time we were together, and I didn’t even think of trying to make it to second base. There wasn’t any need to. There was something nice when I kissed her, something gentle and right, and that was enough for me. The more I did it, the more I realized that Jamie had been misunderstood her entire life, not only by me, but by everyone.  Jamie wasn’t simply the minister’s daughter, someone who read the Bible and did her best to help others. Jamie was also a seventeen-year-old girl with the same hopes and doubts that I had. At least, that’s what I assumed, until she finally told me. I’ll never forget that day because of how quiet she had been, and I had the funny feeling all day long that something important was on her mind.  I was walking her home from Cecil’s Diner on the Saturday before school started up again, a day blustery with a fierce, biting wind. A nor’easter had been blowing in since the previous morning, and while we walked, we’d had to stand close to each other to stay warm. Jamie had her arm looped through mine, and we were walking slowly, even more slowly than usual, and I could tell she wasn’t feeling well again. She hadn’t really wanted to go with me because of the weather, but I’d asked her because of my friends. It was time, I remember thinking, that they finally knew about us. The only problem, as fate would have it, was that no one else was at Cecil’s Diner. As with many coastal communities, things were quiet on the waterfront in the middle of winter. She was quiet as we walked, and I knew that she was thinking of a way to tell me something. I didn’t expect her to start the conversation as she did.  “People think I’m strange, don’t they,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “Who do you mean?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. “People at school.” “No, they don’t,” I lied. I kissed her cheek as I squeezed her arm a little tighter to me. She winced, and I could tell that I’d hurt her somehow. “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. “I’m fine,” she said, regaining her composure and keeping the subject on track. “Will you do me a favor, though?” “Anything,” I said. “Will you promise to tell me the truth from now on? I mean always?” “Sure,” I said. She stopped me suddenly and looked right at me. “Are you lying to me right now?” “No,” I said defensively, wondering where this was going. “I promise that from now on, I’ll always tell you the truth.” Somehow, when I said it, I knew that I’d come to regret it.  We started walking again. As we moved down the street, I glanced at her hand, which was looped through mine, and I saw a large bruise just below her ring finger. I had no idea where it had come from, since it hadn’t been there the day before. For a second I thought it might have been caused by me, but then I realized that I hadn’t even touched her there. “People think I’m strange, don’t they?” she asked again. My breath was coming out in little puffs. “Yes,” I finally answered. It hurt me to say it. “Why?” She looked almost despondent. I thought about it. “People have different reasons,” I said vaguely, doing my best not to go any further. “But why, exactly? Is it because of my father? Or is it because I try to be nice to people?” I didn’t want anything to do with this. “I suppose,” was all I could say. I felt a little queasy. Jamie seemed disheartened, and we walked a little farther in silence. “Do you think I’m strange, too?” she asked me. The way she said it made me ache more than I thought it would. We were almost at her house before I stopped her and held her close to me. I kissed her, and when we pulled apart, she looked down at the ground. I put my finger beneath her chin, lifting her head up and making her look at me again. “You’re a wonderful person, Jamie. You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you’re gentle . . . you’re everything that I’d like to be. If people don’t like you, or they think you’re strange, then that’s their problem.” In the grayish glow of a cold winter day, I could see her lower lip begin to tremble. Mine was doing the same thing, and I suddenly realized that my heart was speeding up as well. I looked in her eyes, smiling with all the feeling I could muster, knowing that I couldn’t keep the words inside any longer.  “I love you, Jamie,” I said to her. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” It was the first time I’d ever said the words to another person besides a member of my immediate family. When I’d imagined saying it to someone else, I’d somehow thought it would be hard, but it wasn’t. I’d never been more sure of anything.  As soon as I said the words, though, Jamie bowed her head and started to cry, leaning her body into mine. I wrapped my arms around her, wondering what was wrong. She was thin, and I realized for the first time that my arms went all the way around her. She’d lost weight, even in the last week and a half, and I remembered that she’d barely touched her food earlier. She kept crying into my chest for what seemed like a long time. I wasn’t sure what to think, or even if she felt the same way I did. Even so, I didn’t regret the words. The truth is always the truth, and I’d just promised her that I would never lie again.  “Please don’t say that,” she said to me. “Please . . .” “But I do,” I said, thinking she didn’t believe me. She began to cry even harder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to me through her ragged sobs. “I’m so, so sorry. . . .” My throat suddenly went dry. “Why’re you sorry?” I asked, suddenly desperate to understand what was bothering her. “Is it because of my friends and what they’ll say? I don’t care anymore-I really don’t.” I was reaching for anything, confused and, yes-scared.  It took another long moment for her to stop crying, and in time she looked up at me. She kissed me gently, almost like the breath of a passerby on a city street, then ran her finger over my cheek. “You can’t be in love with me, Landon,” she said through red and swollen eyes. “We can be friends, we can see each other . . . but youcan’t love me.” “Why not?” I shouted hoarsely, not understanding any of this. “Because,” she finally said softly, “I’m very sick, Landon.” The concept was so absolutely foreign that I couldn’t comprehend what she was trying to say. “So what? You’ll take a few days . . .” A sad smile crossed her face, and I knew right then what she was trying to tell me. Her eyes never left mine as she finally said the words that numbed my soul.  “I’m dying, Landon.” 12S she’d known it since last summer.  The moment she told me, the blood drained from my face and a sheaf of dizzying images fluttered through my mind. It was as though in that brief moment, time had suddenly stopped and I understood everything that had happened between us, understood why she’d wanted me to do the play: I understood why, after we’d performed that first night, Hegbert had whispered to her with tears in his eyes, c I understood why he looked so tired all the time and why he fretted that I kept coming by the house. Everything became absolutely clear.  Why she wanted Christmas at the orphanage to be so special . . . Why she didn’t think she’d go to college . . . Why she’d given me her Bible . . . It all made perfect sense, and at the same time, nothing seemed to make any sense at all. Jamie Sullivan had leukemia . . . Jamie, sweet Jamie, was dying . . . My Jamie. . . “No, no,” I whispered to her, “there has to be some mistake. . . .” But there wasn’t, and when she told me again, my world went blank. My head started to spin, and I clung to her tightly to keep from losing my balance. On the street I saw a man and a woman, walking toward us, heads bent and their hands on their hats to keep them from blowing away. A dog trotted across the road and stopped to smell some bushes. A neighbor across the way was standing on a stepladder, taking down his Christmas lights. Normal scenes from everyday life, things I would never have noticed before, suddenly making me feel angry. I closed my eyes, wanting the whole thing to go away.  “I’m so sorry, Landon,” she kept saying over and over. It was I who should have been saying it, however. I know that now, but my confusion kept me from saying anything. Deep down, I knew it wouldn’t go away. I held her again, not knowing what else to do, tears filling my eyes, trying and failing to be the rock I think she needed. We cried together on the street for a long time, just a little way down the road from her house. We cried some more when Hegbert opened the door and saw our faces, knowing immediately that their secret was out. We cried when we told my mother later that afternoon, and my mother held us both to her bosom and sobbed so loudly that both the maid and the cook wanted to call the doctor because they thought something had happened to my father. On Sunday Hegbert made the announcement to his congregation, his face a mask of anguish and fear, and he had to be helped back to his seat before he’d even finished.  Everyone in the congregation stared in silent disbelief at the words they’d just heard, as if they were waiting for a punch line to some horrible joke that none of them could believe had been told. Then all at once, the wailing began.  We sat with Hegbert the day she told me, and Jamie patiently answered my questions. She didn’t know how long she had left, she told me. No, there wasn’t anything the doctors could do. It was a rare form of the disease, they’d said, one that didn’t respond to available treatment. Yes, when the school year had started, she’d felt fine. It wasn’t until the last few weeks that she’d started to feel its effects. “That’s how it progresses,” she said. “You feel fine, and then, when your body can’t keep fighting, you don’t.” Stifling my tears, I couldn’t help but think about the play.  “But all those rehearsals . . . those long days . . . maybe you shouldn’t have-“ “Maybe,” she said, reaching for my hand and cutting me off. “Doing the play was the thing that kept me healthy for so long.” Later, she told me that seven months had passed since she’d been diagnosed. The doctors had given her a year, maybe less. These days it might have been different. These days they could have treated her.  These days Jamie would probably live. But this was happening forty years ago, and I knew what that meant. Only a miracle could save her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” This was the one question I hadn’t asked her, the one that I’d been thinking about. I hadn’t slept that night, and my eyes were still swollen. I’d gone from shock to denial to sadness to anger and back again, all night long, wishing it weren’t so and praying that the whole thing had been some terrible nightmare.  We were in her living room the following day, the day that Hegbert had made the announcement to the congregation. It was January 10, 1959.  Jamie didn’t look as depressed as I thought she would. But then again, she’d been living with this for seven months already. She and Hegbert had been the only ones to know, and neither of them had trusted even me. I was hurt by that and frightened at the same time. “I’d made a decision,” she explained to me, “that it would be better if I told no one, and I asked my father to do the same. You saw how people were after the services today. No one would even look me in the eye. If you had only a few months left to live, is that what you would want?” I knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. I was, for the first time in my life, completely and utterly at a loss. I’d never had anyone close to me die before, at least not anyone that I could remember. My grandmother had died when I was three, and I don’t remember a single thing about her or the services that had followed or even the next few years after her passing. I’d heard stories, of course, from both my father and my grandfather, but to me that’s exactly what they were. It was the same as hearing stories I might otherwise read in a newspaper about some woman I never really knew. Though my father would take me with him when he put flowers on her grave, I never had any feelings associated with her. I felt only for the people she’d left behind. No one in my family or my circle of friends had ever had to confront something like this. Jamie was seventeen, a child on the verge of womanhood, dying and still very much alive at the same time. I was afraid, more afraid than I’d ever been, not only for her, but for me as well. I lived in fear of doing something wrong, of doing something that would offend her. Was it okay to ever get angry in her presence? Was it okay to talk about the future anymore? My fear made talking to her difficult, though she was patient with me.  My fear, however, made me realize something else, something that made it all worse. I realized I’d never even known her when she’d been healthy. I had started to spend time with her only a few months earlier, and I’d been in love with her for only eighteen days. Those eighteen days seemed like my entire life, but now, when I looked at her, all I could do was wonder how many more days there would be. On Monday she didn’t show up for school, and I somehow knew that she’d never walk the hallways again. I’d never see her reading the Bible off by herself at lunch, I’d never see her brown cardigan moving through the crowd as she made her way to her next class. She was finished she would never receive her diploma. I couldn’t concentrate on anything while I sat in class that first day back, listening as teacher after teacher told us what most of us had already heard. The responses were similar to those in church on Sunday. Girls cried, boys hung  their heads, people told stories about her as if she were already gone. What can we do? they wondered aloud, and people looked to me for answers.  “I don’t know,” was all I could say. I left school early and went to Jamie’s, blowing off my classes after lunch.  When I knocked at the door, Jamie answered it the way she always did, cheerfully and without, it seemed, a care in the world. “Hello, Landon,” she said, “this is a surprise.” When she leaned in to kiss me, I kissed her back, though the whole thing made me want to cry. “My father isn’t home right now, but if you’d like to sit on the porch, we can.” “How can you do this?” I asked suddenly. “How can you pretend that nothing is wrong?” “I’m not pretending that nothing is wrong, Landon. Let me get my coat and we’ll sit outside and talk, okay?” She smiled at me, waiting for an answer, and I finally nodded, my lips pressed together. She reached out and patted my arm. “I’ll be right back,” she said. I walked to the chair and sat down, Jamie emerging a moment later. She wore a heavy coat, gloves, and a hat to keep her warm. The nor’easter had passed, and the day wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been over the weekend. Still, though, it was too much for her. “You weren’t in school today,” I said. She looked down and nodded. “I know.” “Are you ever going to come back?” Even though I already knew the answer, I needed to hear it from her. “No,” she said softly, “I’m not.” “Why? Are you that sick already?” I started to tear up, and she reached out and took my hand. “No. Today I feel pretty good, actually. It’s just that I want to be home in the mornings, before my father has to go to the office. I want to spend as much time with him as I can.” Before I die,she meant to say but didn’t. I felt nauseated and couldn’t respond.  “When the doctors first told us,” she went on, “they said that I should try to lead as normal a life as possible for as long as I could. They said it would help me keep my strength up.” “There’s nothing normal about this,” I said bitterly. “I know.” “Aren’t you frightened?” Somehow I expected her to sayno, to say something wise like a grown-up would, or to explain to me that we can’t presume to understand the Lord’s plan.  She looked away. “Yes,” she finally said, “I’m frightened all the time.” “Then why don’t you act like it?” “I do. I just do it in private.” “Because you don’t trust me?” “No,” she said, “because I know you’re frightened, too.” I began to pray for a miracle. They supposedly happen all the time, and I’d read about them in newspapers. People regaining use of their limbs after being told they’d never walk again, or somehow surviving a terrible accident when all hope was lost. Every now and then a traveling preacher’s tent would be set up outside of Beaufort, and people would go there to watch as people were healed. I’d been to a couple, and though I assumed that most of the healing was no more than a slick magic show, since I never recognized the people who were healed, there were occasionally things that even I couldn’t explain. Old man Sweeney, the baker here in town, had been in the Great War fighting with an artillery unit behind the trenches, and months of shelling the enemy had left him deaf in one ear. It wasn’t an act-he really couldn’t hear a single thing, and there’d been times when we were kids that we’d been able to sneak off with a cinnamon roll because of it. But the preacher started praying feverishly and finally laid his hand upon the side of Sweeney’s head. Sweeney screamed out loud, making people practically jump out of their seats. He had a terrified look on his face, as if the guy had touched him with a white-hot poker, but then he shook his head and looked around, uttering the words “I can hear again.” Even he couldn’t believe it. “The Lord,” the preacher had said as Sweeney made his way back to his seat, “can do anything. The Lord listens to our prayers.” So that night I opened the Bible that Jamie had given me for Christmas and began to read. Now, I’d heard all about Bible in Sunday school or at church, but to be frank, I just remembered the highlights-the Lord sending the seven plagues so the Israelites could leave Egypt, Jonah being swallowed by a whale, Jesus walking across the water or raising Lazarus from the dead. There were other biggies, too. I knew that practically every chapter of the Bible has the Lord doing something spectacular, but I hadn’t learned them all. As Christians we leaned heavily on teachings of the New Testament, and I didn’t know the first things about books like Joshua or Ruth or Joel. The first night I read through Genesis, the second night I read through Exodus. Leviticus was next, followed by Numbers and then Deuteronomy. The going got a little slow during certain parts, especially as all the laws were being explained, yet I couldn’t put it down. It was a compulsion that I didn’t fully understand. It was late one night, and I was tired by the time I eventually reached Psalms, but somehow I knew this was what I was looking for. Everyone has heard the Twenty-third Psalm, which starts, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,” but I wanted to read the others, since none of them were supposed to be more important than the others. After an hour I came across an underlined section that I assumed Jamie had noted because it meant something to her. This is what it said: I cry to you, my Lord, my rock! Do not be deaf to me, for if you are silent, I shall go down to the pit like the rest. Hear my voice raised in petition as I cry to you for help, as I raise my hands, my Lord, toward your holy of holies.  I closed the Bible with tears in my eyes, unable to finish the psalm. Somehow I knew she’d underlined it for me. “I don’t know what to do,” I said numbly, staring into the dim light of my bedroom lamp. My mom and I were sitting on my bed. It was coming up on the end of January, the most difficult month of my life, and I knew that in February things would only get worse. “I know this is hard for you,” she murmured, “but there’s nothing you can do.” “I don’t mean about Jamie being sick-I know there’s nothing I can do about that. I mean about Jamie and me.” My mother looked at me sympathetically. She was worried about Jamie, but she was also worried about me. I went on. “It’s hard for me to talk to her. All I can do when I look at her is think about the day when I won’t be able to. So I spend all my time at school thinking about her, wishing I could see her right then, but when I get to her house, I don’t know what to say.” “I don’t know if there’s anything you can say to make her feel better.” “Then what should I do?” She looked at me sadly and put her arm around my shoulder. “You really love her, don’t you,” she said. “With all my heart.” She looked as sad as I’d ever seen her. “What’s your heart telling you to do?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe,” she said gently, “you’re trying too hard to hear it.” The next day I was better with Jamie, though not much. Before I’d arrived, I’d told myself that I wouldn’t say anything that might get her down-that I’d try to talk to her like I had before-and that’s exactly how it went. I sat myself on her couch and told her about some of my friends and
I caught her up on the success of the basketball team. I told her that I still hadn’t heard from UNC, but that I was hopeful I’d know within the next few weeks. I told her I was looking forward to graduation. I spoke as though she’d be back to school the following week, and I knew I sounded nervous the entire time. Jamie smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, asking questions every now and then. But I think we both knew by the time I finished talking that it was the last time I would do it. It didn’t feel right to either of us.  My heart was telling me exactly the same thing. I turned to the Bible again, in the hope that it would guide me. “How are you feeling?” I asked a couple of days later.  By now Jamie had lost more weight. Her skin was beginning to take on a slightly grayish tint, and the bones in her hands were starting to show through her skin.  Again I saw bruises. We were inside her hous the cold was too much for her to bear. Despite all this, she still looked beautiful. “I’m doing okay,” she said, smiling valiantly. “The doctors have given me some medicine for the pain, and it seems to help a little.” I’d been coming by every day. Time seemed to be slowing down and speeding up at exactly the same time. “Can I get anything for you?” “No, thank you, I’m doing fine.” I looked around the room, then back at her. “I’ve been reading the Bible,” I finally said. “You have?” Her face lit up, reminding me of the angel I’d seen in the play. I couldn’t believe that only six weeks had gone by. “I wanted you to know.” “I’m glad you told me.” “I read the book of Job last night,” I said, “where God stuck it to Job to test his faith.” She smiled and reached out to pat my arm, her hand soft on my skin. It felt nice. “You should read something else. That’s not about God in one of his better moments.” “Why would he have done that to him?” “I don’t know,” she said. “Do you ever feel like Job?” She smiled, a little twinkle in her eyes. “Sometimes.” “But you haven’t lost your faith?” “No.” I knew she hadn’t, but I think I was losing mine. “Is it because you think you might get better?” “No,” she said, “it’s because it’s the only thing I have left.” After that, we started reading the Bible together. It somehow seemed like the right thing to do, but my heart was nonetheless telling me that there still might be something more. At night I lay awake, wondering about it. Reading the Bible gave us something to focus on, and all of a sudden everything started to get better between us, maybe because I wasn’t as worried about doing something to offend her. What could be more right than reading the Bible? Though I didn’t know nearly as much as she did about it, I think she appreciated the gesture, and occasionally when we read, she’d put her hand on my knee and simply listen as my voice filled the room. Other times I’d be sitting beside her on the couch, looking at the Bible and watching Jamie out of the corner of my eye at the same time, and we’d come across a passage or a psalm, maybe even a proverb, and I’d ask her what she thought about it. She always had an answer, and I’d nod, thinking about it.  Sometimes she asked me what I thought, and I did my best, too, though there were moments when I was bluffing and I was sure that she could tell. “Is that what it really means to you?” she’d ask, and I’d rub my chin and think about it before trying again. Sometimes, though, it was her fault when I couldn’t concentrate, what with that hand on my knee and all. One Friday night I brought her over for dinner at my house. My mom joined us for the main course, then left the table and sat in the den so that we could be alone. It was nice there, sitting with Jamie, and I knew she felt the same way. She hadn’t been leaving her house much, and this was a good change for her.  Since she’d told me about her illness, Jamie had stopped wearing her hair in a bun, and it was still as stunning as it had been the first time I’d seen her wear it down. She was looking at the china cabinet-my mom had one of those cabinets with the lights inside-when I reached across the table and took her hand. “Thank you for coming over tonight,” I said. She turned her attention back to me. “Thanks for inviting me.” I paused. “How’s your father holding up?” Jamie sighed. “Not too well. I worry about him a lot.” “He loves you dearly, you know.” “I know.” “So do I,” I said, and when I did, she looked away. Hearing me say this seemed to frighten her again. “Will you keep coming over to my house?” she asked. “Even later, you know, when . . . ?” I squeezed her hand, not hard, but enough to let her know that I meant what I said. “As long as you want me to come, I’ll be there.” “We don’t have to read the Bible anymore, if you don’t want to.” “Yes,” I said softly, “I think we do.” She smiled. “You’re a good friend, Landon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She squeezed my hand, returning the favor. Sitting across from me, she looked radiant. “I love you, Jamie,” I said again, but this time she wasn’t frightened. Instead our eyes met across the table, and I watched as hers began to shine. She sighed and looked away, running her hand through her hair, then turned to me again. I kissed her hand, smiling in return. “I love you, too,” she finally whispered. They were the words I’d been praying to hear. I don’t know if Jamie told Hegbert about her feelings for me, but I somehow doubted it because his routine hadn’t changed at all. It was his habit to leave the house whenever I came over after school, and this continued. I would knock at the door and listen as Hegbert explained to Jamie that he would be leaving and would be back in a couple of hours. “Okay, Daddy,” I always heard her say, then I would wait for Hegbert to open the door. Once he let me in, he would open the hallway closet and silently pull out his coat and hat, buttoning the coat up all the way before he left the house. His coat was old-fashioned, black and long, like a trench coat without zippers, the kind that was fashionable earlier this century. He seldom spoke directly to me, even after he learned that Jamie and I’d begun to read the Bible together. Though he still didn’t like me in the house if he wasn’t there, he nonetheless allowed me to come in. I knew that part of the reason had to do with the fact that he didn’t want Jamie to get chilled by sitting on the porch, and the only other alternative was to wait at the house while I was there. But I think Hegbert needed some time alone, too, and that was the real reason for the change. He didn’t talk to me about the rules of the house-I could see them in his eyes the first time he’d said I could stay. I was allowed to stay in the living room, that was all. Jamie was still moving around fairly well, though the winter was miserable. A cold streak blew in during the last part of January that lasted nine days, followed by three straight days of drenching rain. Jamie had no interest in leaving the house in such weather, though after Hegbert had gone she and I might stand on the porch for just a couple of minutes to breathe the fresh sea air.  Whenever we did this, I found myself worrying about her. While we read the Bible, people would knock at the door at least three times every day. People were always dropping by, some with food, others just to say hello. Even Eric and Margaret came over, and though Jamie wasn’t allowed to let them in, she did so anyway, and we sat in the living room and talked a little, both of them unable to meet her gaze. They were both nervous, and it took them a couple of minutes to finally get to the point. Eric had come to apologize, he said, and he said that he couldn’t imagine why all this had happened to her of all people. He also had something for her, and he set an envelope on the table, his hand shaking. His voice was choked up as he spoke, the words ringing with the most heartfelt emotion I’d ever heard him express. “You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met,” he said to Jamie, his voice cracking, “and even though I took it for granted and wasn’t always nice to you, I wanted to let you know how I feel. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life.” He paused and swiped at the corner of his eye. “You’re the best person I’ll probably ever know.” As he was fighting back his tears and sniffling, Margaret had already given in to hers and sat weeping on the couch, unable to speak. When Eric had finished, Jamie wiped tears from her cheeks, stood slowly, and smiled, opening her arms in what could only be called a gesture of forgiveness. Eric went to her willingly, finally beginning to cry openly as she gently caressed his hair, murmuring to him. The two of them held each other for a long time as Eric sobbed until he was too exhausted to cry anymore. Then it was Margaret’s turn, and she and Jamie did exactly the same thing.  When Eric and Margaret were ready to leave, they pulled on their jackets and looked at Jamie one more time, as if to remember her forever. I had no doubt that they wanted to think of her as she looked right then. In my mind she was beautiful, and I know they felt the same way. “Hang in there,” Eric said on his way out the door. “I’ll be praying for you, and so will everybody else.” Then he looked toward me, reached out, and patted me on the shoulder. “You too,” he said, his eyes red. As I watched them leave, I knew I’d never been prouder of either of them. Later, when we opened the envelope, we learned what Eric had done. Without telling us, he’d collected over $400 dollars for the orphanage.  I waited for the miracle. It hadn’t come. In early February the pills Jamie was taking were increased to help offset the heightened pain she was feeling. The higher dosages made her dizzy, and twice she fell when walking to the bathroom, one time hitting her head against the washbasin. Afterward she insisted that the doctors cut back her medicine, and with reluctance they did. Though she was able to walk normally, the pain she was feeling intensified, and sometimes even raising her arm made her grimace.  Leukemia is a disease of the blood, one that runs its course throughout a person’s body. There was literally no escape from it as long as her heart kept beating. But the disease weakened the rest of her body as well, preying on her muscles, making even simple things more difficult. In the first week of February she lost six pounds, and soon walking became difficult for her, unless it was only for a short distance. That was, of course, if she could put up with the pain, which in time she couldn’t. She went back to the pills again, accepting the dizziness in place of pain. Still we read the Bible. Whenever I visited Jamie, I would find her on the couch with the Bible already opened, and I knew that eventually her father would have to carry her there if we wanted to continue. Though she never said anything to me about it, we both knew exactly what it meant. I was running out of time, and my heart was still telling me that there was something more I could do. On February 14, Valentine’s Day, Jamie picked out a passage from Corinthians that meant a lot to her. She told me that if she’d ever had the chance, it was the passage she’d wanted read at her wedding. This is what it said: Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes. Jamie was the truest essence of that very description.  Three days later, when the temperature slightly warmed, I showed her something wonderful, something I doubted she’d ever seen before, something I knew she would want to see. Eastern North Carolina is a beautiful and special part of the country, blessed with temperate weather and, for the most part, wonderful geography. Nowhere is this more evident than Bogue Banks, an island right off the coast, near the place we grew up. Twenty-four miles long and nearly a mile wide, this island is a fluke of nature, running from east to west, hugging the coastline a half mile offshore. Those who live there can witness spectacular sunrises and sunsets every day of the year, both taking place over the expanse of the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Jamie was bundled up heavily, standing beside me on the edge of the Iron Steamer Pier as this perfect southern evening descended. I pointed off into the distance and told her to wait. I could see our breaths, two of hers to every one of mine.  I had to support Jamie as we stood there-she seemed lighter than the leaves of a tree that had fallen in autumn-but I knew that it would be worth it. In time the glowing, cratered moon began its seeming rise from the sea, casting a prism of light across the slowly darkening water, splitting itself into a thousand different parts, each more beautiful than the last. At exactly the same moment, the sun was meeting the horizon in the opposite direction, turning the sky red and orange and yellow, as if heaven above had suddenly opened its gates and let all its beauty escape its holy confines. The ocean turned golden silver as the shifting colors reflected off it, waters rippling and sparkling with the changing light, the vision glorious, almost like the beginning of time. The sun continued to lower itself, casting its glow as far as the eye could see, before finally, slowly, vanishing beneath the waves. The moon continued its slow drift upward, shimmering as it turned a thousand different shades of yellow, each paler than the last, before finally becoming the color of the stars. Jamie watched all this in silence, my arm tight around her, her breathing shallow and weak. As the sky was finally turning to black and the first twinkling lights began to appear in the distant southern sky, I took her in my arms. I gently kissed both her cheeks and then, finally, her lips.  “That,” I said, “is exactly how I feel about you.” A week later Jamie’s trips to the hospital became more regular, although she insisted that she didn’t want to stay there overnight. “I want to die at home,” was all she said. Since the doctors couldn’t do anything for her, they had no choice but to accept her wishes. At least for the time being. “I’ve been thinking about the past few months,” I said to her.  We were sitting in the living room, holding hands as we read the Bible. Her face was growing thinner, her hair beginning to lose its luster. Yet her eyes, those soft blue eyes, were as lovely as ever. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone as beautiful. “I’ve been thinking about them, too,” she said. “You knew, from the first day in Miss Garber’s class that I was going to do the play, didn’t you. When you looked at me and smiled?” She nodded. “Yes.” “And when I asked you to the homecoming dance, you made me promise that I wouldn’t fall in love, but you knew that I was going to, didn’t you?” She had a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Yes.” “How did you know?” She shrugged without answering, and we sat together for a few moments, watching the rain as it blew against the windows. “When I told you that I prayed for you,” she finally said to me, “what did you think I was talking about?” The progression of her disease continued, speeding up as March approached. She was taking more medicine for pain, and she felt too sick to her stomach to keep down much food. She was growing weak, and it looked like she’d have to go to the hospital to stay, despite her wishes. It was my mother and father who changed all that.  My father had driven home from Washington, hurriedly leaving although Congress was still in session. Apparently my mother had called him and told him that if he didn’t come home immediately, he might as well stay in Washington forever.  When my mother told him what was happening, my father said that Hegbert would never accept his help, that the wounds were too deep, that it was too late to do anything. “This isn’t about your family, or even about Reverend Sullivan, or anything that happened in the past,” she said to him, refusing to accept his answer. “This is about our son, who happens to be in love with a little girl who needs our help.  And you’re going to find a way to help her.” I don’t know what my father said to Hegbert or what promises he had to make or how much the whole thing eventually cost. All I know is that Jamie was soon surrounded by expensive equipment, was supplied with all the medicine she needed, and was watched by two full-time nurses while a doctor peeked in on her several times a day. Jamie would be able to stay at home. That night I cried on my father’s shoulder for the first time in my life. “Do you have any regrets?” I asked her. She was in her bed under the covers, a tube in her arm feeding her the medication she needed. Her face was pale, her body feather light. She could barely walk, and when she did, she now had to be supported by someone else. “We all have regrets, Landon,” she said, “but I’ve led a wonderful life.” “How can you say that?” I cried out, unable to hide my anguish. “With all that’s happening to you?” She squeezed my hand, her grip weak, smiling tenderly at me. “This,” she admitted as she looked around her room, “could be better.” Despite my tears I laughed, then immediately felt guilty for doing so. I was supposed to be supporting her, not the other way around. Jamie went on.  “But other than that, I’ve been happy, Landon. I really have. I’ve had a special father who taught me about God. I can look back and know that I couldn’t have tried to help other people any more than I did.” She paused and met my eyes.  “I’ve even fallen in love and had someone love me back.” I kissed her hand when she said it, then held it against my cheek. “It’s not fair,” I said. She didn’t answer. “Are you still afraid?” I asked. “Yes.” “I’m afraid, too,” I said. “I know. And I’m sorry.” “What can I do?” I asked desperately. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” “Will you read to me?” I nodded, though I didn’t know whether I’d be able to make it through the next page without breaking down. Please, Lord, tell me what to do! “Mom?” I said later that night. “Yes?” We were sitting on the sofa in the den, the fire blazing before us. Earlier in the day Jamie had fallen asleep while I read to her, and knowing she needed her rest, I slipped out of her room. But before I did, I kissed her gently on the cheek. It was harmless, but Hegbert had walked in as I’d done so, and I had seen the conflicting emotions in his eyes. He looked at me, knowing that I loved his daughter but also knowing that I’d broken one of the rules of his house, even an unspoken one. Had she been well, I know he would never have allowed me back inside. As it was, I showed myself to the door. I couldn’t blame him, not really. I found that spending time with Jamie sapped me of the energy to feel hurt by his demeanor. If Jamie had taught me anything over these last few months, she’d shown me that actions-not thoughts or intentions-were the way to judge others, and I knew that Hegbert would allow me in the following day. I was thinking about all this as I sat next to my mother on the sofa. “Do you think we have a purpose in life?” I asked.  It was the first time I’d asked her such a question, but these were unusual times. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” she said, frowning. “I mean-how do you know what you’re supposed to do?” “Are you asking me about spending time with Jamie?” I nodded, though I was still confused. “Sort of. I know I’m doing the right thing, but . . . something’s missing. I spend time with her and we talk and read the Bible, but . . .” I paused, and my mother finished my thought for me. “You think you should be doing more?” I nodded. “I don’t know that there’s anything more youcan do, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Then why do I feel the way I do?” She moved a little closer on the sofa, and we watched the flames together.  “I think it’s because you’re frightened and you feel helpless, and even though you’re trying, things continue to get harder and harder-for the both of you. And the more you try, the more hopeless things seem.” “Is there any way to stop feeling this way?” She put her arm around me and pulled me closer. “No,” she said softly, “there isn’t.” The next day Jamie couldn’t get out of bed. Because she was too weak now to walk even with support, we read the Bible in her room. She fell asleep within minutes. Another week went by and Jamie grew steadily worse, her body weakening. Bedridden, she looked smaller, almost like a little girl again. “Jamie,” I pleaded, “what can I do for you?” Jamie, my sweet Jamie, was sleeping for hours at a time now, even as I talked to her. She didn’t move at t her breaths were rapid and weak.  I sat beside the bed and watched her for a long time, thinking how much I loved her. I held her hand close to my heart, feeling the boniness of her fingers.  Part of me wanted to cry right then, but instead I laid her hand back down and turned to face the window. Why, I wondered, had my world suddenly unraveled as it had? Why had all this happened to someone like her? I wondered if there was a greater lesson in what was happening. Was it all, as Jamie would say, simply part of the Lord’s plan?  Did the Lord want me to fall in love with her? Or was that something of my own volition? The longer Jamie slept, the more I felt her presence beside me, yet the answers to these questions were no clearer than they had been before.  Outside, the last of the morning rain had passed. It had been a gloomy day, but now the late afternoon sunlight was breaking through the clouds. In the cool spring air I saw the first signs of nature coming back to life. The trees outside were budding, the leaves waiting for just the right moment to uncoil and open themselves to yet another summer season. On the nightstand by her bed I saw the collection of items that Jamie held close to her heart. There were photographs of her father, holding Jamie as a young child and standing outside of school on her first there was a collection of cards that children of the orphanage had sent. Sighing, I reached for them and opened the card on top of the stack. Written in crayon, it said simply: Please get better soon. I miss you. It was signed by Lydia, the girl who’d fallen asleep in Jamie’s lap on Christmas Eve. The second card expressed the same sentiments, but what really caught my eye was the picture that the child, Roger, had drawn. He’d drawn a bird, soaring above a rainbow. Choking up, I closed the card. I couldn’t bear to look any further, and as I put the stack back where it had been before, I noticed a newspaper clipping, next to her water glass. I reached for the article and saw that it was about the play, published in the Sunday paper the day after we’d finished. In the photograph above the text, I saw the only picture that had ever been taken of the two of us. It seemed so long ago. I brought the article nearer to my face. As I stared, I remembered the way I felt when I had seen her that night. Peering closely at her image, I searched for any sign that she suspected what would come to pass. I knew she did, but her expression that night betrayed none of it. Instead, I saw only a radiant happiness. In time I sighed and set aside the clipping.  The Bible still lay open where I’d left off, and although Jamie was sleeping, I felt the need to read some more. Eventually I came across another passage. This is what it said: I am not commanding you, but I want to test the sincerity of your love by comparing it to the earnestness of others. The words made me choke up again, and just as I was about to cry, the meaning of it suddenly became clear. God had finally answered me, and I suddenly knew what I had to do.  I couldn’t have made it to the church any faster, even if I’d had a car. I took every shortcut I could, racing through people’s backyards, jumping fences, and in one case cutting through someone’s garage and out the side door. Everything I’d learned about the town growing up came into play, and although I was never a particularly good athlete, on this day I was unstoppable, propelled by what I had to do. I didn’t care how I looked when I arrived because I suspected Hegbert wouldn’t care, either. When I finally entered the church, I slowed to a walk, trying to catch my breath as I made my way to the back, toward his office.  Hegbert looked up when he saw me, and I knew why he was here. He didn’t invite me in, he simply looked away, back toward the window again. At home he’d been dealing with her illness by cleaning the house almost obsessively. Here, though, papers were scattered across the desk, and books were strewn about the room as if no one had straightened up for weeks. I knew that this was the place he thought about J this was the place where Hegbert came to cry.  “Reverend?” I said softly. He didn’t answer, but I went}