Little Sis

Note: This post is by guest author, Travis, who is Dayna's older brother.

Little Sis

I entered into the home that I had grown up in to find a family in tears. My mother seemed inconsolable. I looked into the loving eyes of my father, only to see tears. It was the first time in my life that I had seen my father cry. I knew then that this was no dream. It felt like I’d just caught a weight in my chest. I took my weeping mother in my arms and held her for the longest time. I could smell the sweet perfume that she had used that morning. I could taste the tears that were coming, not from my mother, but from myself. I then moved to my father in an embrace that showed every amount of sorrow that he felt, yet at the same time the immensity of the love he had for me.

I reflected on the call I had gotten earlier that day. I was reminded of the simple words that turned my day to gray. I could still hear the words of my brother as he told me over the phone, “Dayna’s dead.” He’s not one to mince words or sugar coat things. I thought of the drive that seemed to take days. I recalled the inner turmoil that was taking place. The last thing I wanted to do was accept it. It was a dream, a nightmare. I’ll wake up in a moment and call her, just to hear her voice. She’s my baby sister. Nothing was wrong. Yet the pain in my brother’s voice was all too real. The pain in the pit of my stomach began to grow.

My thoughts were interrupted by my brother. He looked miserable. His chest was heaving as he fought back the tears. I reached and caught him in an embrace. I held him, comforting him as he sobbed heavily into my shoulder. I assured him that everything was going to be all right. He related anew the events of that morning. I knew the pain he was feeling. We shared it.
The decision was made. I would be one of the first to enter my sister’s room. The room was silent, empty. It seemed like hallowed ground. It was her sanctuary. It seemed too soon. I felt like a trespasser on someone else’s property. This was her room. Rarely had I ever crossed into it, only when invited. Now it was cold and devoid of happiness. Yet, there was something familiar.

As I sat on her bed, I drank in the memories. The happy thoughts seemed to come in from everywhere. I thought of the laughs that we’d had. I also thought of how ridiculous some of the arguments were. Stories came to mind about how she would make any situation better. Every sight had a story. Every smell had volumes to say. I thought of her life and how she had lived it. I could almost hear her when I thought, “Cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it.” I smiled to myself. It was exactly what she would say if she had been there.

After a few moments, the thought entered my head, “What will you leave behind? What will you take with you?” I reflected on that over and over. I thought of what she had done in so short a time. I thought of her life and the people she touched. She had accomplished so much. That thought has helped me to realize that life should be lived and not just enjoyed from another viewpoint. I now see that I must be prepared for my coming day. It may come sooner than expected. Will I be caught unprepared? Can I say at that point that I’m satisfied with the way I left the world?