It took a long time to come to terms with Carter's death. I was only 15 at the time, and it was difficult to try to comprehend the concept of death. I was young and scared. I feared losing him because I loved him so much. I didn't fully understand what was going on, I didn't fully understand the situation and I didn't fully understand how to cope. I remember the day so vividly. The long corridors, the emery silence and the clinical white colour that adored the hospital walls were things I came to despise but could never forget. We sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs for hours. It dragged by so slowly, it felt like it had been days. None of us spoke; for fear that our emotion would overflow. It wasn't the time to cry. I remember seeing Dr Randall turn the corner. He was staring at the clip chart he held as he walked towards to us wearing the clinical white coat. I remember the look on his face as tilted his head upwards to stare at us. It was a look that made my breath falter. It was a mixture of despair, sympathy and professionalism. "I'm sorry" were the two words that confirmed out worst fears. It took a second to sink it. It was almost like slow motion. I was frozen in the seat. The strangled sob that emerged from my mother's mouth echoed through the hallway. It was a trigger, which set of my own tears. It felt like someone had punched a huge gapping whole in my heart. My dad was amazing that day. He stayed so calm, so loving. It was a blur as Dr Randall explained things to my father, explaining the complication, explaining what had happened.

That day has haunted me for the last four years. I will never forget the emotions that wracked body that day. The days that followed were a blur of funeral arrangements and organising. The funeral happened only two days later. The whole family attended and his friends from school. His favourite classical music was played. That was the only thing I contributed to the whole day. I played Clair De Lune as the curtain slowly shut around his body at the crematorium. The piano allowed me to express my despair, my sorrow and my sadness. The tears flowed freely as I gave him this one last gift. Carter loved to hear me play piano, after all he taught me to play. We spent hours sitting in the music room, playing over and over again on his beloved grand piano.

After the funeral, I wasn't sure how we were going to carry on. I couldn't see a world where carter wasn't part of it. My parents had become shut off. They fell back into the same routine. Work, eating and sleeping was all we did. They had lost a child and I had lost a brother. I didn't know how to cope, and they struggled to support me. I don't blame them. We were all grieving for our loss. I could hear my mother's quiet sobs at night. I could hear their arguments late at night as I sat at the top of the stairs. They tried to shield it from me. They tried to protect me. But we were falling apart.