Wow, it's almost been a year since I've blogged. And due to my absence, all the setting controls have changed, and I can't change my retarded picture. Whatever. A lot has happened since September of 2006. My heart was broken countless times by California boys who have the attention span the size of a maggot, my sister committed suicide, my family spiraled into a state of depression and avoidance, friends turned into distant acquantainces or enemies, people I thought were good people proved otherwise, and too much to go on. I'm not denying that there were good times. I got my first cat since I was 3, (dad finally said yes!), I met a wonderful man named Brian who stays with me through everything, my brother & I have developed a better relationship, & I realized that I'm not ready for college. Not quite yet. I'm not ready to face another school, another set of faces, more names to remember, effort into friendships. I'm not ready to leave my family behind, to move on from the house that I've learned to call home since I left Hawaii. And I'm not ready to let go of my sister just yet. Death changes you. I don't know how to explain the feeling. I know everyone experiences it differently, and only a few people have dared to ask me exactly how it feels, but I feel like sharing now. When I cry over Kristina, there is a familiar pain in my head. It feels like a knot, or a tumor, or a big black blob just stuck inside of my brain and I can't scratch it out. Everytime I think of her and cry, it's big heavy, (and not to mention unattractive) sobs. And images, crazy images play throughout your mind. I remember getting the phone call. I remember crying all the way home. I recall the sirens, the firetrucks, the police officers parading in and out of my house. I remember seeing her on the stretcher, an oxygen mask put to her face to comfort us, although the paramedics knew she was a hopeless case. I remember them joking, and I remember a flare of anger spread through me so fast I didn't know one person could hold so much emotion. I felt like the ocean. I felt like my insides were spread out so far and wide and there were so many things inside of me all at once, and thoughts racing and swimming and I felt like suffocating over tides and waves of grief. I can still see my mom crying, my brother shaking since he was the one who found her, and my father; our rock, holding our family together as he remained calm and talked to the authorities. Brian drove us to the hospital. We waited in a waiting room that was supposed to be "cozy" for families waiting to hear if their loved one was dead. There was a table, and a vase with flowers on it. Also red curtains. But the stench of the hospital was overwhelming. when the doctor walked in, I knew, before he even opened his mouth, that she was dead.
You can't imagine the kind of silence that is.
the kind of anticipation, your ears straining so hard that your brain is about to explode inside of your head. And when you hear those words, We couldn't save her. You just want to get up and set the place on fire.
You want to kill the man who tells you this, even though it's not his fault.
Death makes you crazy. I remember seeing her on the stretcher, wires and tubes up her nose and in the hole they cut in her throat. There was vomit in her hair, her lips were blue, and her stomach was abnormally large due to the CPR attempts. She was so cold I felt like I was on fire. & all I wanted to do was run, to look away, but your eyes are fixated on the still object before you that was once so full of life. It's right then, when you see it with your own eyes, that you know you'll never quite be the same again. The shock is a tricky thing.
When I went to her funeral, in a deranged sleepless state, I remember convincing myself that this was an elaborate prank set up by one of those corny and extremely stupid Parent-Kid-Prank TV shows.
I recall thinking that maybe I really was dreaming.
Or it was some lesson that God was trying to teach me, and once I learned it, he'd yank me back out of the black and I'd wake up.
I thought of everything. anything. something. please, anything, other than the truth. and I wish she could see herself. I hope she did see herself. In a kid's coffin, surrounded by letters and cards and the possessions she held dearly in life. I hope she saw how we all cried, all the words we said, each speaking of our fondest memory before putting one red rose on her still large belly. After that, whenever someone joked, "I'd rather kill myself"
all of this would race through my mind.
whenever someone even mentioned hangings
i had to run to the bathroom and cry and try not to throw up After that, whenever I walked on a tall building, I wondered what it would be like to jump
to fall
to drown
to die. And thoughts of her in hell torment me all the time.
But if God is all-forgiving,
surely he wouldn't
right? she will never get married.
nor go to prom.
she was only in 8th grade.
she was 13.
so young.
and she was so beautiful
would have been
a beautiful woman. she will never be my maid of honor
nor the aunt of my children
never drive the car she begged me to let her take hold of
never laugh again
never see again
never smile with blue lips. They say that God doesn't give you
more than you can handle
tell that
to her. | 
