"Lord, won't you take me," she said. She felt defeated. Low. She didn't know what to do.

Her friends and relatives were dying off. Her one close friend lived in a different state. They didn't talk much. Her friend was busy with grandchildren. She never married.

The last time she saw her brother, he was in hospital. She knew it would be the last time. So did he. She never cried in public. She wanted to. She had to get away. Before he saw her face.

"I love you," she said. It was the first time she said that to him. The last time.

He couldn't talk anymore. Multiple sclerosis had taken hold of his body. But he mouthed the words, "I love you too." She could read it on his lips.

She quickly turned away and left the room.

There wasn't a reason to go on. She gave up her dog Alaska, a beautiful husky. She couldn't take care of him anymore. She found him a good home. He would be happier.

What do people do to find hope? Her apartment was a lonely place. These walls. She didn't like going out anymore. Arthritis. "Lord, won't you take me," she said.

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