"I'll See You Soon"

The following entry is by a guest writer. Dayna's cousin, Melissa, wrote this recently and allowed me to post it here.

When I was little, I always looked up to the older people around me. Especially at family gatherings, like the family reunion. I'd always run around, annoying the heck out of those older then me. I think their way of getting rid of us was giving us all the dirty work. Honestly, there was always new trash to be picked up! It never ran out.

I remember when my parents had no means to get us to the family reunion, and [Aunt and Uncle Mo's] family came with their HUGE white van to truck us all away. I stepped in, exclaiming, "WOAH! This is huge! I've never seen a car this big."

"Not even buses?" Aubrey had asked sarcastically, and I glared at her the way little kids do.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool isn't it?" Dayna had asked.

I looked at her wide eyed. Though I don't remember exactly what I replied, I think I might have been thinking, "An older person is talking to me.... woah...." After that, I remember sitting with her the whole way to [the reunion].

Years passed, and I was now the "big one-three" as my mother often put it. I remember Dayna's family not being there, and I was really sad, because who was going to give me a ginormous hug? Who was going to push me on the swing, even though I really was too old for that? The little kids were seriously missing her at that point. [Another cousin] was worked like a mule that year... :D

I was now almost 15. I was the new delegated swing pusher, piggyback giver, "it" in tag, and everything provided with being old enough to move my creaking bones across the dirt and pineneedles. I remember pushing one of the littler kids on the swing, and Dayna walked up, and pushed from the front. I was relieved, for someone had finally taken a serious bit of weight off my arms. I was really sore. I already I had another kid clawing at my leg, pining for a piggyback ride.

Dayna's family did an all call and she stopped pushing the swing, with an annoyed look on her face. "Looks like it's time for me to go." She said.

I looked up. "Okay. See you later." I replied hurriedly, for a new tribe of aboriginal kindergartners was pulling my legs from underneath me.

She looked at me. "Looks like it's time for me to go!" she said a little louder.
Suddenly, the ropes of bondage were released as the little kids ran to say goodbye, leaving me panting on the ground.

I stood up and thanked her for releasing me. "I seriously thought I was going to die there for a second!" I looked, terrified, at the swiftly regrouping little children.
Again, she was called for as her family was loading the van.

"Bye!" I waved, and walked off.

"What?!" she shouted after me. "No hug?!"

I ran back and embraced her.

"Goodbye." she said in my ear. "I'll see you soon. I'm going now."

She ran off to her family, with me left behind, a serious sense of peace. At least, until the little kids saw me not doing anything and came in a sea of hyperness, and waved over me. I swear, all that was left of me was a small clump of hair and my shoe.

[Two] months later, I'm dreaming of that family reunion with a smile on my face. For some reason, a tear traces down my cheek.

"Melissa!" my mom calls. "Melissa!" She appears in my doorway, tears running down her cheeks.

"Wait-mom! What is it?"

"I...she...died! Just...called.... I don't know..."

"Wait mom, calm down! What is it. Come on, sit on my bed and explain."

She sat down for a few minutes, crying and trying to calm down. "Dayna died!" she said. "In her sleep. [Aunt Mo] found her this morning."

After that, the day was a blur. I remember my dad coming in my room, shutting the door and hugging me. Tears were coming down his face.

A week later, my mom and I were working and she asked me the dreaded question. "What do remember best about Dayna?"

I heard the now hollow memory of Dayna telling me "I'm leaving now."

"I just don't want to talk about it." I left the room swiftly, in order to avoid more unessecary and painful questions.

I felt a very complete sense of loss. Why didn't I say something more profound when she said goodbye? I did not cry. I did not have any tears.

Her funeral unearthed those tears [and] I think I cried more than I ever have. I couldn't bear to look at her. My heart was clawng itself. I felt like running.
I know that she would not want me to dwell on her death in a negative way. I couldn't help it though. I started having nightmares.

One night, about a week after the funeral, I started to pray aloud. "Please! I don't want to die. I didn't want anyone to die! Why? I'm scared." I succeeded in just making myself sob harder and babbling a pretty incoherent prayer until I finally fell asleep.

I don't know what I dreamed that night, but all I remember is waking up and hearing Dayna as if she was standing right next to me, "Goodbye. I'll see you soon. I'm going now." I sat up and looked around. She was nowhere. I looked at the clock. [Three o'clock] in the morning. I began to cry again.

My nightmares stopped.

I love you Dayna.

See you soon.

Melissa