This is a brief recollection of painful memories that continue to inspire me.
| I remember it like it was only yesterday. The clouded mind accompanied by the worthless feeling of knowing that my future from that moment on would not only be bleak, but also lonely. I remember walking threw the front door and feeling the weight of the world come crashing down onto my shoulders as i ran the information of never seeing my best friend, my sister, ever again. I didn't want anything about that moment to be true, I wanted everything to be as they were, before that horrible....
At the time i lived in San Diego, California. I was very young but the horrid experience branded all too vividly the pain of murder. My sister Carolyn was 24 and I was 11; i looked up to her as a role model and best friend. No one understood me as she did, and no one could relate to the way i felt about our father more than she, not even our other sister. For Sara was the type of girl who worshiped the ground that our father walked on. He was her hero, and could do no wrong despite the fact that he had ignored all three of us for the better portion of our lives, doing drugs, and choosing to be involved in self centered actions that shut out his young girls. Sara was always his favorite though, so her constant attachment to his side was understandable. Carolyn was the oldest, and i the youngest, and we felt the cold shoulder from our father more times then countable on your hands. However, the times that were emotionally stressful for her and I only brought us closer in bond. We soon became best friends, spending weeks together, visiting mom only once in a while.
That day, I went to school as usual. It was the first week of the 6th grade and my first week in junior high school, i felt on top of the world like nothing could hold me down; but that day, i had a lingering emotion that was slowly building up inside me. I felt very uneasy and my stomach was doing summersaults. i wanted to call Carolyn to come and get me, but i decided i didn't want to keep her from work. After school, my mom picked me up and we al went to Vons grocery store when her phone rang. It was her husband of a year, stephen. I couldn't tell what they were talking about but he tone in my mom's voice quickly changed from calm, to panicked, serious. Her face fell and we stopped messing around as a response to our mom's sudden 180.
We finished our shopping and decided to stop by Carolyn's house to see what the hysteria was all about. As we came around the bend in the road i saw yellow tapes, large white vans, news reporters, and people standing in her drive way. My heart leaped into my throat as the cold sweat began to build in my pores when we pulled around to speak to an officer.
"I need to speak with my daughter." my mom insisted towards the policeman.
"Who's your daughter mam?" He asked in a casual reply.
"Carolyn Neville, she lives right there, what's going on? Is she ok?" as soon as the words left her lips, the facial expression of the man changed and sent all our hopes of a miscommunication down the drain.
"One moment" He then walked away, leaving us staring at the house, contemplating the possible occurrences that brought us to this specific moment.
Soon the officer's superior walked over the the driver side window, sweat dripping down by his side burns. I couldn't tell if it was because of the warm day, or if it was because the responsibility to tell a homicide victim's family that we'd never see our loved one again was his. He was a stout man, in his mid 40's in a business suit carrying a notepad. On his way over, he made more than several conscience attempts not to look into our eyes. He asked my mom's name, but refused to give us anymore information; i could tell his dark shifty eyes were hiding something that we needed to know. Maybe it really wasn't her and he can't tell us anything i thought to myself attempting to have an optimistic outlook on things when everything seemed to hopeless.
When we got home about twenty minutes later, my mom told us to go outside and just play; but despite my best efforts, i couldn't. I was held captivity idle by the thoughts and emotions that were soaring threw my head a mile a minute. Finally, i gave up on trying to be hopeful and decided to go see my mom and spend time with her until we got word if she was ok or not. The birds were singing and the sun shone brightly as a reached my hand out slowly for the handle on the front door. I cracked the door slightly and walked in, my heart pounding so hard i thought it might burst out of my chest. My mom was facing with her back towards me, looking out the kitchen window, but when she heard the door open she turned ever so slightly just to see who it was. I shut the door quietly behind me, never deferring my gaze from hers. Nothing was said between us. Her painfully bloodshot crystal blue eyes were filled with mournful tears and i knew instantaneously.
The air quickly got heavy and hard to inhale. My vision went spotty, and i remember nothing...
Five years later, I still feel the pain of loosing my sister. The pain never dies, it only fades, but every now and then, a wave of emotion come swinging back to slap me in the face and remind me of the the last moments she spent living on this Earth. The guilt consumes me, and insists that I could've saved her if i only called her. If only i wasn't as mad, if only my pride hadn't have gotten the best of me, she's still be alive, and I would be a completely different person. But that only happens every now and then when i dream of her last moments.
The only thing that gets me threw the day sometimes without breaking down, is knowing that she'll always be with me as long as i remember the strength she gave me while she was alive. She taught me to have dedication, a powerful will for the things that i desire, and a relentless attitude that sometimes gets me into trouble. Sometimes my mom tells me she can almost see her looking out threw my eyes, making sure everyone's ok. I know she watches over me, sometimes I can feel her presence and i just start telling her all the things that she's missed, how i've changed... Hot tears often make my vision blurry when I talk to her, but i know that's just the love that I have for her swelling up inside me. For the love of a sister is irreplaceable, and cannot be contained.