Dear Diary,

It’s been a year since I was told my cancer was incurable, and that I had about 18 months left. My parents were devastated. While sad for them, all I could feel for myself was relief. No more hospitals, sickness, pain, and watching the people I care about suffer. They’ll be sad for awhile, but the burden of my illness will be over. Ever since I was young, I had this recurring dream of this beautiful, peaceful place. A cozy cabin near a lake, with a huge oak tree I often sit under. The sun is always shining, the birds beautifully singing, as the breeze of the wind kisses my skin. In this place I feel no pain, just joy. While I rarely see other people there, we never actually speak. Yet somehow we communicate how grateful we are for this place. I’ve convinced myself when this life ends, that’s where I’m going. I’ve been sick for so long I haven’t been able to experience much in my short life, but this place in my dreams brings me comfort.