All my life I have believed in good. Bad sometimes prevails, but I have always figured if I hold on long enough bad will fail in the end. Lately, it has gotten more and more difficult to hold on to the good. Sister Paula Merrill was murdered on Thursday. She was a nurse practitioner who dedicated her life to providing health care to people in the poorest county in Mississippi. I knew Paula Merrill. We went to St. Pat’s in Stoneham together for eight years. We went to Fenway Park to watch the Sox. She went to one high school while I went to another, but when my family was moving to the Cape, Paula offered a room in her house so I could finish high school where I started, but we lost track of each other sometime after high school. I didn’t even know she had become a nun. When I visit my sister, I go by Paula’s family house, and I think Paula Merrill lived there. I go by another house and think Dennis McCarthy lived there. Paula Tague lived in another house I pass. Marilyn Rich lived on that street and David Coleman on another. Patty Hurley still lives up the street from my sister. They were my classmates for eight years and are part of my history. When I drive by their houses, I remember each of them, but they are frozen in time. Paula Merrill isn’t any longer. I mourn her death despite the years since we’ve seen each other. I firmly believe, though, that despite all, Paula would remind me to hold fast to the good for all I’m worth.