AN: I don't own any of the characters, so please don't sue. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! The story format is based off the epilogue from the book, "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult.
There should be a limitation on grief. Some set of rules that states that it's alright to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after 47 days I shouldn't hear your footsteps echoing through the halls or feel my heart pounding when I think you called my name; that after two months it's okay to laugh again.
When you died, our world stopped; time stood still for what seemed like hours, moving in slow motion on the ambulance ride to the hospital. I don't think you realized that it was me that held you hand until Grissom came, that I held you as you slipped the bonds of earth to live eternally with the sun and moon.
I had never been that close to someone dying before and everyday I ask myself why it had to be you, why I was allowed to live with only scratches but your life had to end. There were so many things that we didn't get a chance to say and I only hope that you've been watching us so that you'll finally understand how much we love you.
I stood there, staring at the tube down your throat, watching a machine breathe for you when the other's arrived. I remember the sound the door made when Warrick burst through, the sound of the doorknob slamming into the flimsy drywall, followed quickly by Nick and Catherine; Grissom wasn't at his office and an officer was sent to find him. Their silent questions were asked through their tear filled eyes and I responded simply, "Drunk driver…" I didn't have the heart to tell them that you couldn't breathe on your own, that your heart had stopped beating before we arrived at the ER, or that you had already found your place in Heaven.
Grissom came silently into the room, his face emotionless and drained of color. I had never seen anyone break down like Gris did when he saw you, lying thin and fragile in the stiff white sheets of your hospital bed. Seeing him kneel beside you, taking your hand in his was the final thing that broke our strong composure. His body wracking with sobs that I've only seen when a husband looses his wife, brought on a new wave of nausea that I had been fighting to suppress.
I couldn't watch as Grissom told you over and over how sorry he was, how much he loved you, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, how it was too late. One by one we whispered our deepest secrets and feelings into the shell that was lying before us, hoping and praying that you could hear us pleading for you to come back. I wish I could have saved you, I wish it was my body lying there instead of yours…
We all knew the choice we had to make; it was up to us to turn off your machines. You had listed us as your family, six people unrelated by blood but related by spirit. We watched your chest rise and fall rhythmically to the beeping of the machine next to your bed post. Grissom had put his hand on your chest and closed his eyes, waiting for the machine to be silenced. Catherine finally summoned enough courage to walk over to the respirator and place her hand on the switch. She said in a whisper, that only I think heard, "I never hated you." She flipped the switch and stood there, for the first time fully comprehending what had just happened. When the monitor flat lined we heard a sob from Grissom as he felt your heart stop beating.
It's been three months to the day since you left us. Your funeral was the most emotional thing that I have been through, besides loosing you. Even in death you looked like an angel gracing us mortals with your divine presence. We were granted that night off by Ecklie, (who cried at your service even though he would never admit to it) after he told us that he had assigned us back to our original night-shift team, except that you were missing.
I wonder if you look after us and make sure that we're okay. If you know that Catherine and Warrick started dating, if only as a way to stay strong. If you saw Grissom, how the light went out of his eyes and how he spent more and more time locked up in his office. I wonder if you know that the lab isn't the same without your smile or your laugh. If you realize that everyday we think about you and wish things had turned out differently. If you watch me sleep at night and know that the tears I cry are because I miss you.
I wonder if Griss is up there with you, finally being able to hold you in his arms and tell you that he loves you. The doctors say he died of a heart attack, but we know it was because of a broken heart.
On a roll of film I developed last week I found a picture of you and Grissom taken at this year's department Christmas party. I've studied that picture so many times that the sides are beginning to wear out and there are creases on the corners, only after 7 days. I've memorized the way your hair falls off your shoulders, the way the light reflects off your eyes, Grissom's genuine smile, and the way your fingers are effortlessly intertwined.
I hope that you save a place for me up in Heaven, for all of us.
P.s. Why is it that Sara dies in the majority of stories that kill a C.S.I. character? shrugs
