This next part was hard for me to write. But i'm sorry if this is confusing but this is the best way i can describe it using my jumbled up memories from this haunting event. Note: In case you haven't gathered. I was only 11, which means my yougest brother, is 5; my Oldest brother, 'Summer', is 21 and my second oldest brother, 'Blake' is 19.
Oh god. God no, please no. Not Elijah. No. No. He's just a baby. Not my precious nephew. These words whirled around my head as I stumbled out of the room and barreled down the hall. I had no idea what room but the lack of knowledge didn't stop me from looking all over the floor. As I ran I heard from the waiting room my mom yelling at me to come back. That I shouldn't see it. See what?
When I found the room and stood in the door way I found out exactly what she had been trying to protect me from.
Elijah's mom is African America and his father has some Indian in him. So Elijah was tan, he wouldn't ever have the worry of being pale.
I stood in the doorway, gasping for air at the sight I had stumbled on.
Elijah was lying in a bed in his diaper, pale as snow, his chest wasn't moving. Blake was sitting in a chair, one hand squeezing Elijah's tiny, pale, limp hand. His other hand was covering his face as he cried. His sobs echoed in my head. No thoughts went through my head. Only a broken plea for Elijah to wake up. No emotions went through my body. Only despair. I had never thought that this simple, yet giant moment could haunt both my waking and sleeping hours for the rest of my life. But it has haunted me to the age I am now, 17 years old.
I vaguely remember my mom herding me out of the hospital to a bench. I vaguely remember my brother, Summer showing up. I vaguely remember him hugging my and crying. I vaguely remember Tiffany showing up in a large t-shirt, calm as can be. I hated her for being so calm after finding out her son was dead at 4 months old. I hadn't known at the time that she was in too much shock to function correctly. I also remember vaguely Blake walking out and, without breaking stride, hugged me so tightly I thought he would break me in half. He then hugged Riley, my little brother of 5 years of age, and began crying so hard I thought Riley had said something. I know realize that it was because he knew Elijah would never hug him; the Elijah would never get to finish growing. All of these vaguely remember occurrences I remember in short snippets, like in a movie, when the hero or heroine is 'dying' and their life flashes in little random image.
The next week I barely remember, even now, as I try and sift through this era in my childhood. The random bits I do remember lead me to the conclusion that I wasn't allowed to go to his funeral. I was sent to stay with my god-mother, a woman that had known me from the tiny age of about 2 or 3 and who I still consider as my aunt. I stayed with her for a few days. I remember her trying to get me to not dwell on his death but it's not an easy thing for an 11-year old child to lose her first nephew. It is also not an easy thing to forget such a scarring moment.
My best friend's birthday was two days after Elijah died. He never found out what happened.
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