My Aunt Tanya died when her son, my cousin, was 2 years old. That was many many years ago. My Uncle Mark, on the other side of my family, had been in and out of the hospital for years. When I was in 8th grade, it would be his last trip to the hospital.
At the beginning of the week, I found out he had been hospitalized; he had been in the previous week, but the family thought he would get better so they didn’t tell me. Then over the weekend, he had a heart attack. He was technically dead for over 5 minutes, and the staff were able to bring him back, and put him on the machines to keep him alive.
That week of school my mind kept drifting to my uncle on a ventilator, slowly getting worse. My mom told me that if I was not pulled out of school, everything was OK. Second to last class, there was a ring on the intercom; the teacher answered and told me that I was to collect my stuff, that my sisters were there to pick me up. Nothing more.
I had to go to my locker before meeting with my sisters. The entire hall was empty, except there was a person hanging around my locker. As I got closer, I saw it was my Aunt Tanya. I was used to seeing people that others didn’t see, so I tried to ignore her.
When I opened my locker, the tears came in force. Why did this have to happen to me?… why my family?
I felt this great warmth surround me. Then I felt arms around my shoulders. And I heard my aunts voice. “It will be OK; everything will be okay.” she whispered in my ear. Then the warmth was was gone.
But in its place was this strength that no matter what happened, I was going to survive and that life would go on.
That weekend, instead of going to a show choir competition for school I was at a funeral helping my family with my uncle’s passing. Many people remarked on my strength for someone my age. I would have been a nervous wreck if it hadn’t have been for my aunt’s help through that week.