"What'll you miss the most
"What'll you miss the most?" Tricky. What would I miss the most? "It can't be one word!" Sometimes I swear my head is split open and she reads my thoughts. "I don't know. I was thinking of saying plain everything, but you said I couldn't so, I don't know."
"There has to be something…"
"Yeah, there actually is…" the magic of being a big sister, duh, but, "most definitely: Pinkberry Frozen Yogurt all-day-long marathons!"
"You can still do that, doofhead!"
"Nah, I've figured they'd close it down, given the fact that only me and you go there so…"
"I don't believe that…" , "Well, start…"
Just thinking of her, slowly fading away made my heart crack and ache. She was only seven, and she knew so much. Sometimes I think that when a child is born sick, you should immediately notice. By 2, Isabella was competing in toddler triathlons, by 4 she knew the alphabet and numbers up to 20 by heart, by the time she was 6 and in the first grade, Isabella Montez was an impressive student, heck, she was a breathtaking, amazing, young girl. All of that was cut short May 20th 2007. It was a sunny Saturday morning, she was sick so I'd slept with her afraid she'd wake up in the middle of the night with something bothering her.
She was my most prized possession; I'd won the lottery having Isabella in my life. Even though I was young and much more immature at the age of 10, I was the happiest person in the hospital; I dare to say the most joyful kid in all of California. Just the fact that I'd become a big sister, made the glitz in my eyes grow bigger. I can remember the first time I saw her, my mom was holding her close, with my chubby fingers I traced her face up to her jaw line, it's one of those memories I hold close to my heart. My father wasn't there, and he wouldn't be either, he never got to meet the gaze of her hazel eyes when they hit the sun for the first time, he never got to see the dimples of her cheeks go wide the first time we took her to the beach. He never knew that 'dada' was her first word, and that my mom cried herself to sleep every night because he wasn't there. I used to think it was because he always wanted a boy, and we were technically, well, we were both girls, all in pink, yellow and red. Barbies & Kens, Polly Pockets and itty bitty clothes. My dad was never there.
Now we were moving into a smaller house, mom and me.
Isa, was diagnosed with severe Leukemia, 3 days before my birthday last year. I was at my best friends' house when my mom called and told me the shocking news. I felt like I couldn't breathe, I was gasping for air, tears rolling down my cheeks so fast it looked like they were soothing the fire that I'd provoked. I ran, as fast as I could, as if my feet had slowly turned into wheels, magic wheels that would take me away from that lie, my sister couldn't die, 'she wasn't going to', I thought and came to a sudden jolt and thought a bit more and picked up my pace again and ran. I ran so far in the end that I met my mom turning on her car engine in the hospital parking lot, tears erupting from her eyes like the Mauna Loa. I knocked on her window pane and noticed how Isabella was peacefully asleep in the back. I hopped into the seat next to mom and she held my hand tightly, as if trying to reassure me that we'd just embarked on a whole new ride.
"Gabi! Gabii!! Gabiiiii!"
"WHAT?!" I woke up panting; sweating and well, I don't know what else.
"You were crying in your sleep, butt face!"
Her giggles were numbered, so I took each and every one of them in. I hugged her close and we lay like that for a moment or two.
"Were you dreaming of me?"
"Um, why...?"
"Because every time you or mom cries, it's 'cause of me…"
"Nonsense!"
"I'm seven, not two."
"I…well…um, yeah…you were somewhere in my dream…were you awake all this time?"
"No, but then I woke up and you were smiling, so I decided I'd look at you for a second, just look. Then you started to cry and move uneasily… and I held your hand, and you stopped, then you started to breathe really hard, and I woke you up!"
I love how her dimples were on the cracks of her mouth.
"I'll miss you Gabi. I think that's what I'll miss the most. Do you think I'll have a big sister in heaven? I mean, I know God has a lot of kids, but, will any of them be like you? Will they hold my hand whenever I'm hurting? Will they kiss the tip of my nose if I cry?" Pause. We went quiet in a long awkward, silent pause. "Will you meet me in heaven, Gabi?"
I hugged her as close as I could, tears streaming down her face for the first time because she was afraid of losing us; of losing me. I wished things would stop and we could stay like this. Forever.
"Maybe, not in a while, but I pinky promise you, we'll see each other in heaven again someday."
"Don't think of me Gabi. I know you're upset and that you get sad when you do, so don't. Just look at my pictures and smile, that's it. I'll be thinking of you 'cause one of us has to do the work, but that should be enough. Promise?"
"Maybe…"
Mom had left that morning, she told me to talk to Isabella, I'd need it afterwards and I wasn't going to be able to have it; whatever Mom said was always true. It's strange how when you know your time's up, when you've been preparing for that moment, you wish it lasted a little bit longer.
Isabella had been having her dialysis everyday now, and Mom couldn't stand her tears, my mom was the one puking with Isabella, every single time, even if she wasn't in the same room. One night, we were having dinner in the hospital cafeteria, while Isabella was asleep, Mom was strangely quiet.
"Mom?"
"…Yeah?"
"What are you thinking?"
"Isabella."
"Oh."
"Do you not feel her pain when you hold her through each dialysis?"
I had held Isa ever since Mom gave up in the middle of the first one, she couldn't hold Isabella still, tears streaking down both their faces. It was heart breaking, and painful.
"I close my eyes, sink my head into her neck and hold her hands tightly. Yeah, I feel it."
"What do you feel, Gabi?"
"I don't feel, actually. I stopped feeling after the first week."
"Should we put her to sleep?"
Oh – My – God. Did my mom just say that? Put Isabella to sleep like she was a dog or something? No! Impossible, that's not even a matter to think of!
"MOM!?"
"What? I said: Put her to sleep." Her voice still impressively calm, like water flowing from a river and mixing with the sea.
"Kill her?"
"Put her to sleep."
"Kill her." I said, matter-of-factly.
"Peaceful, rejoicing, sleep."
"Forever?"
"And ever."
"Forever."
"For the better."
"I don't know mom. I don't want to lose her just yet."
"So you want to keep her in pain?"
"If she's gonna smile every time it's over, then yeah."
"Gabriella…"
"Sorry… I know it's selfish, but, her smile, mom!"
"Her eyes…"
"Her little dimples…"
We kept on going until, God knows when, or, as she says, until I agreed. When we told Isabella, her reaction was just what was to be expected. She cried a little and then said, "Hey, if I don't have to go through this again, and I get to die with my hair long…I'm in."
This, was it. Today was the day Isabella Montez would die. As easy as that. Isn't it supposed to be amazing? Knowing the day you'd die? The exact moment, pick the people you'd want there with you? Being able to say…your last words? No.
We'd curled up in the twin-size hospital bed. Tinkerbelle covers. Hand in hand. Her IV was located on her left hand, and when Dr. Tanning lifted her hand and injected the dose that she would need to die, I felt again. I felt her pain and my mom's, I felt the pain that was about to invade me, coming all together, the pain that I'd never let go of. Summer was dying quicker than intended, I mean, wasn't I supposed to die before her? When I was 90 and she was still 'young'? This wasn't fair. Not for her, not for me, not for the world to lose Isabella.
The liquid suddenly turned pink, and the doctor had told us, that when mixed with her medications, if working all right, it'd turn this color. I looked up at her and in between tears, she smiled at me. Mom was crying so hard she didn't feel the squeeze Summer gave us. I felt it.
"Summer," I said before she was gone, "remember when you asked me to promise I wouldn't think of you?"
"yeah."
"I'll love your every memory, every piece of time. I'll gather up your laughs and your sobs, and turn them into a star at the top of my heart. But most of all, Isa, I'll love you forever instead. Ok?"
"Ok."
She kissed my forehead and then Mom's which finally made her open her bloodshot eyes. It was all going so slow, that it felt like and eternity, but in the end it couldn't of happened quicker. Isabella Maria Montez was pronounced dead on March 28th, 2008, at the age of seven.
After her highly anticipated but sudden death, I still don't know how Mom and I coped with the whole situation. I don't know how I understood the meaning of death, and the meaning of 'seizing the day' by myself. Last, but by no means least, I learned to smile through pain and stick out my chin and grin. I also discovered that missing someone isn't about how long it's been since you've seen them the last or the amount of time since you've talked…it's about that very moment when you're doing something, and you wish, you wish that person was right there with you.