My Sister

[Kaleidoscope Eyes]

I lost my younger sister three years ago to complications of Noonan's Syndrome, a genetic disorder she'd had since birth. She was 9, I was 13. Because of her disorder, she had a lot of problems. She was small (at nearly 10 years old she stood just under 4 feet tall), her head was big and her eyes were almost too big for her face, and she had a heart condition, just to name a few. It was her heart that eventually did her in. The muscles in the left ventricle were too thick, which meant that electrical signals from the brain were easily confused, causing her heart to beat irregularly. One day, the signal was missed, and her heart just stopped. Traditional resuscitation techniques were useless, due to her condition, and there was nothing the paramedics could do for her. When this happened, I was sitting in my 5th period English class, having a grand old time talking to my friends and pretending to do work. All of a sudden, the principal was waiting for me outside, I was told that I wasn't in trouble but I needed to grab my things. Just then, I knew what had happened. It sounds silly, but I really knew. I knew Allison was in trouble, and when I was told that a squad car would take me to the hospital, I knew she wasn't going to make it. If she was ok, one of my parents would have come to get me. The fact that they couldn't leave her side to make the half mile trip to my school meant that everything had fallen apart. About 10 minutes after I reached the hospital, Allison was pronounced dead. All I could think was how small she looked in that hospital gown, and how typical it was that her eyes were half open (they always were, when she was asleep, I'm not sure why). It didn't really sink in until later, after the funeral, after everything. Even now, three years later, I find myself forgetting that she's gone. I'll hear a funny joke or see a commercial that reminds me of her, and I think, "I've gotta tell Ally about that, she'd love it." Then I have to remind myself that I can't, and it's always like his huge shock. It just never felt like she was really gone. She always seemed so... invincible. It was a miracle she lived as long as she did; when she was born the doctors actually told my parents not to fall in love with her, that we wouldn't have her long and they should save themselves the heartache. I think that convinced them to love her extra, to make sure that however short her life would be, it would be a good life. And it was. She was always smiling, always happy to be here, even when kids would pick on her for her size, or her big head. Life got her down sometimes, but she always knew how to pick herself back up. She radiated this positive energy, and it was impossible to be sad around her unless she was sad, in which case you wanted to do everything in your power to make things right for her.

These days I'm missing her a bit more than usual. It's so quiet without her. Anyone else dealing with the same sort of thing?

[Gumleaf]

i think you are doing amazingly well coping with this the way you are. it must have been an awful experience. i have lost 2 members of my extended family in the last year, but thats nothing compared to what you went through. one thing i do know is that talking to people about these things helps. i hope that the pain for you will ease in time.

[Sapphire]

I'm sorry to hear about your loss.

I've recently lost my grandad (who was my father figure) and I have that same feeling of him not having gone completely. It's difficult because I get waves of accepting he has gone and intense grief to go along with that. The rest of the time it doesn't feel as if it's really happened.

What is your fondest memory of her?

My fondest memory of my grandad is sat on their patio and talking about psychology with him. We both love psychology and taught each other different things on the topic.

They live on through the happy memories and through being missed. I think this is why it feels as if they are still with us. We all miss him and think of him regularly so he will never go completely.

[Kaleidoscope Eyes]

My fondest memory of my sister, is of the night before she died. She'd gone to dance class earlier in the week (hip-hop), and was trying to teach our dad what she'd learned. It was hysterical, he couldn't get it right, and she was laughing so hard. All of us were in tears by the end of the night, it was just too funny watching Dad try to dance.

[Gumleaf]

My fondest memory of my sister, is of the night before she died. She'd gone to dance class earlier in the week (hip-hop), and was trying to teach our dad what she'd learned. It was hysterical, he couldn't get it right, and she was laughing so hard. All of us were in tears by the end of the night, it was just too funny watching Dad try to dance.


that must be a wonderful memory to treasure. i have heaps of memories of my grandma who died about 6 months ago. its by remembering them, that i can get through those tough times i have sometimes.

[byee]

What a sad story, but a very sweet memory. She went out smiling and laughing and dancing!

You know, when we love people, I mean REALLY love them, they become a part of us. They become intertwined with us emotionally. So, when they go, it's like that part of us was ripped out, which in a way, it was.

However, once you get past the obvious loss, they're still in there. They're still with us, forever. I think with time, the initial grief passes, and we're left with the warm glow of not only their memories, but of their presence as well. It just takes a different form.

I'm really sorry for your loss (and Carole's and Stephen's), but I'm happy that they had the time with all 3 of you. You are all very caring, special people.

[Kaleidoscope Eyes]

What a sad story, but a very sweet memory. She went out smiling and laughing and dancing! (...)

Heh, yup. When she died, she was actually on the playground at school. It was the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, and the principal had hidden a turkey beanie baby somewhere on the playground. The kids were supposed to look for it, and whoever found it would win this giant clown-shaped pez dispenser. She said she wanted to win it so she could hide it in my room and scare the crap outta me (I hate clowns). So she literally went out smiling, she was having a great time. She probably never even knew what hit her. Just running, and then suddenly, flying.

[byee]

It somehow makes it easier hearing that.


(*suddenly also figures out OP's nick*)

[jma94]

Wow... i feel so sorry for you... although i'm sure you dont want sympathy. I have never been in a situation like yours but when i was 7 i was taken from my mother. That felt like loosing her at the time and it was tough. You seem to be coping very well though. Your a strong person I'm sure. I'm not going to try and relate to your situation though. If theres anything i can do... feel free to ask. :]

[Gumleaf]

Heh, yup. When she died, she was actually on the playground at school. It was the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, and the principal had hidden a turkey beanie baby somewhere on the playground. The kids were supposed to look for it, and whoever found it would win this giant clown-shaped pez dispenser. She said she wanted to win it so she could hide it in my room and scare the crap outta me (I hate clowns). So she literally went out smiling, she was having a great time. She probably never even knew what hit her. Just running, and then suddenly, flying.


it would make me feel better to know that she would have gone with a smile on her face and probably not even realising what was going to happen. did it make you feel any better knowing she went when she was having a fun time with a smile on her face?