“Matters of Life and Death”

I guess you could say I was spoiled – I’d call it blessed. Either way, I was four years old and an only child. I was used to having everything in my world, well, because it was my world. After visiting the park one day (upon my request), my mother and I returned home. Before I could take both of my shoes off, she insisted that we have a talk in her room. She took me by the hand as we climbed the carpeted stairs to her bedroom. She sat me on the bed and began to speak. “You’re growing up now and things are going to have to change soon,” she said, “I need you to understand that we can’t always do what you want to do and when you want to do it…OK?” I refused to agree with what she said. She wasn’t mean about it –very nice, actually – but when you’re a spoiled four-year-old, all you hear is evil.

It wasn’t until about a couple of months later that her brief chat with me started taking serious effect. My parents seemed restless. There was all this talk of moving, getting new cars and the word ‘appointment’ had been thrown around entirely too much. I finally approached my mother and said, “I want to have a talk with you now, mommy. This time can we go in my room?” She obliged. I needed to get to the bottom of things; everything had just become so different so quickly. “I don’t think you like me anymore, mommy. We haven’t been to the park in a long time and you’re starting to get fat and I don’t want a fat mommy.” She smiled and gave me the biggest hug I ever remember her giving me. “Cierra, I love you more than anything,” she said, “I’m sorry we haven’t been to the park. We’ll go soon, I promise. Oh, and mommy’s not getting fat. I’m going to have another baby.”

The announcement energized my spirit in the craziest ways. I told everyone who I possibly could – pre-school friends, teachers, family. Hell, I even remember telling a cashier at Chick-fil-A that my mother was pregnant. Time already moved slowly to me back then, but time moved even more slowly waiting on a stubborn baby. One day, my dad told me that he was going to check my mother into the hospital and that he would drop me off to my aunt’s place. I didn’t want to go to my aunt’s place; I wanted to be with my mom. I guess it’s hard to say no to a child so young because we were on our way to the hospital after that. I saw my mom lain in her hospital bed. Totally oblivious to all of the machinery and bells and whistles that surrounded the bed, I found myself climbing up there with her. She didn’t seem to mind. I was happy, but more importantly, she was happy to have me there.

I must’ve fallen asleep because I awoke to someone shouting, “Is there a nurse available? I need a nurse!” I was no longer on the bed and had been transferred to a huge, comfortable couch-like piece of furniture. It was the best seat in the house – literally. I could see everything. A hush seemed to fall over the room. It was eerily dim and chilly. I was highly intrigued. My mother, frantically, started telling me to look away. Of course I didn’t. I needed to see what was going to happen next. Suddenly, I saw him. There he was, still attached to the umbilical cord and all covered in…womb stuff. Time stood still for a few, short moments. My four-year old mind had to have produced a thought that was equivalent to a toddler’s version of oh shit, did that really just happen? It was the most pleasantly, disgusting day of my life. Four years and four months to the day of my own birth, I got my one and only sibling. I was officially a big sister.

My best and worst news had always been delivered in rooms with either one parent or both speaking to me about the matter. I loved getting good news because this meant that I was going to get rewarded somehow. The bad news usually meant a beat down was brewing, so I tried my best to avoid those. This one time in particular, the bad news was inescapable. Not only was it inevitable, it was something that had already happened. My father looked disturbed, disgruntled and very sad. I had never seen him like that before. He took me to a room and turned off the TV that was on in there. He sat me down in a chair and choked as he told me my aunt had passed earlier that morning. I don’t remember crying at that moment, but I know I must have because it’s still something that impacts me fifteen years later.

I had just had my sixth birthday party and my aunt was there to celebrate with me. Chuck E. Cheese’s was a big deal to me back then, so that’s where we went. She and my uncle had already been there by the time my father and I showed up. I was so happy to see them but I was happier to see her. She playfully danced along to the cheesy disco-themed music playing in the background. She always had this liveliness about her that I always liked even though I was too young to really appreciate it. I encouraged her to join me in my adventure around Chuck E. Cheese’s but I guess she thought it best to rest and eat the pizza. I didn’t mind too much. I was just happy to be at one of my favorite places. Only in hindsight do I wish I stayed with her to eat pizza or encouraged her a little more to play games with me. Just ten days later, she was gone.

Her name was Yvette. I used to call her Vet-Vet. I always knew there was something different about her. She looked normal, mostly, but I knew she didn’t live a normal life. She had a wheelchair or two and she seemed to always be hooked up to oxygen tanks. I never understood why. Everywhere we went, the oxygen tank followed. I hated those cans. They were so bulky and heavy and I knew they weren’t there for a good thing. Despite the obstacles, she never let them control her life anymore than they already did. She took care of me, she even let me stay with her and my uncle for a couple of days after my brother was born. If there’s one thing I really miss about her, it’s how much she treated my brother and me like we were her own. I don’t remember ‘I love you’ being said a whole lot, but even if it wasn’t, I don’t think it needed to be. It was concrete knowledge.

I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. My mom didn’t want me to remember her in that way. I’m fortunate to not have that memory of her and even more fortunate to have gotten to spend the time with her that I did. Six years isn’t a long time, but it was enough time for her to have an impact on me. I began writing my mom notes in my room that night after my dad told me the news. Neither one of us were able to speak. I wrote to her saying that everything was unfair and how much I would miss Vet-Vet. We wrote of the many different memories of her and the pleasant times we all shared. It was a painful day, a painful night, and a painful time. Before I cried myself to sleep, my mom wrote me one last note. She told me that she loved me very much and that Vet-Vet did too.

I reminded myself that Vet-Vet did love me very much. It was just unbelievably painful to see her go. I knew how strong and kind of a person she was. I knew how much she loved all of us. Still to this day, I haven’t met anyone quite like her and it saddens me that I probably never will... Things were dark then, but in all cases of death, there is rebirth in some shape or form. I don’t like to think about this time too often but the one good thing that did come from it is that’s when I realized that heaven had to be real.

Years after her passing, I can still feel her presence. She’s always here to watch over me – I’ve seen her wings. Of course I’d do anything to have her back to actually watch over me, but God needed one of his angels back home.