Say the Unsaid Things

You never know what tomorrow will bring....


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"I didn't take your cigarettes!" I half yelled rudely.

"Okay, whatever..." said the deep, grouchy voice I knew too well.

"OK well I'm going." I said dryly.

"Aaa-lright."

And with the click of the telephone I turned away and headed off to be with some friends.

Moments before I had learned that my mother, sister, brother, and step-father were leaving to go on vacation without me. In a terrible fit of jealousy, I let my displeasure be known. I went on and on about how messed up it was I was not invited and how my family did not love me. Just on and on. This rode well into the next day.

July 16,1999 is my step-father's 50th birthday. It was going to be his first birthday party ever. My mother had told me two or three times, so I was well aware. I had planned to be there at my dad's first birthday party, (even though every since I had hit adolescence, we never seen eye to eye and fought constantly) but in the "situation" I thought he had put me in and in my moment of pure selfishness and resentfulness, I decided to say I'd show and just not go.

All the better, my friend called and asked me to go with her to her family reunion ... a perfect excuse!

So at about 10 that night I called home collect. It was busy so I left a collect message for later delivery.

"Mom I left your shorts at Aunt Sheila's. If you want them before you leave on vacation tomorrow, better go get em'."

No I love you.

No be careful.

No tell dad happy birthday.

All the way to Ohio with my friend, I bad mouthed him and my mom for marrying him. I felt so angry and left out. I blamed it all on him. It was always Denny's fault. I just knew he had been the one to suggest not taking me. We never got along it seemed.

Eventually we arrived at our destination and tucked in for the night. I never thought twice about my family. Never one thought of all the fun they were probably having at Denny's birthday party. Not once about the excitement they all had for leaving on vacation tomorrow. Just myself.

The next morning after I had got ready, my friend and her family hit the road to meet the rest of them at an all day reunion. We had stopped at K-mart. One of Kelly's relatives pulled up to her car.

"Jara, you need to call home something bad happened." she had said.

"What," I asked, "who?"

"Your step-dad had a heart attack or something." she replied.

"Is he OK?" I said quietly, as I began to shake.

"I do not know, you'll have to call." and she drove away.

I got out of the car, headed towards a nearby telephone booth. I dialled collect. My mom's voice came over the line.

"Jara..." mom said meekly.

"Mom what happened, are you OK?" I asked.

"Denny's dead ... come home, please Jara, come home."

"OK mom, I'll be there," I said quietly, "I love you."

My legs were rubber, I couldn't talk, tears were flooding my eyes and running down my face.

That night at his birthday party, after the guests had left, Denny had suffered a massive heart attack. It was caused from emphysema and heart disease, that even he never knew about. He died in my mother's arms.

You see, I never made peace with Denny I never took the time to show how really important to me he was. I never took the time to tell him he was my Daddy.

He had been there when my biological dad hadn't. He was the one who clothed, fed, and sheltered me as long as I can remember. He was the one that rubbed my belly for hours when I was home sick from school. He was the one who helped me move into my first apartment. He was the one that tried till his death bed to give me values and responsibility. He was the one man in my life I knew that would love me unconditionally. I never told him how much all that meant to me. I never told him that he was my daddy.

After all this, I've learned it so important not to let things go unsaid, no matter how minor or major. Even though I know Denny knew I loved him, I would feel so much better knowing for sure he knew because I hurt him in so many ways. And you see, he never complained.

Cheering Me On

 Losing a loved one is the hardest thing in life, but stories like this really show that they're still there, cheering us on.
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I close my eyes as tight as they can go.

The lights go off, and my imagination switches on. Pictures flash through my mind like an old film from the fifties.

I remember driving home by myself for the first time. Now, I look into the future and imagine that I am walking across the stage to receive my college diploma. The years pass, and I hear my fianc é say "I do." I look further and listen to the gentle gurgles coming from my baby's nursery. A smile discreetly appears as memories past and thoughts of the future travel through my soul.

I journey to memories of my high school graduation, and a tear suddenly trickles down my cheek. I look into the bleachers packed with families and friends. I see my parents wrapped in pride, and I look to their side for Katie and Kevin's approval. But Katie, my older sister, is not there.

My eyes abruptly open as I am snapped back into reality. I remember being called out of Spanish class in tenth grade and taken to the hospital to see Katie, who had cancer, for the final time. It was an excruciating task, but I found the good in Katie's tragic death.

Katie's room is exactly the way she left it on a Friday night in September, 1993, when she was carried to the ambulance on a stretcher. Her James Dean poster hangs on one wall; her elementary school track ribbons and collection of porcelain masks hangs on the others. Her bed is neatly made and lined with stuffed animals -- typical of a girl who would visit her sloppier friends and, without prompting, start vacuuming their rooms.

Katie died just a few weeks into her freshman year at the University of Miami. At eighteen she was 5'5'' tall and had straight shoulder length blond hair, big blue eyes, and pale clear skin. Her senior year in high school, Katie was the varsity cheerleader captain and valedictorian.

More importantly, though, she was my best friend. After all, when she was six years old, she had declared herself old enough to take care of her little sister and brand new baby brother, because she thought our mother was not sharing us enough with her. This caring attitude continued throughout her life. Katie would always braid my hair, go shopping with me, and let me go out with her and her friends when I was lonely and bored. Katie would always tutor Kevin, who has a learning disability, when he needed help with his homework. She would continually drill him on his studies until he got it right. Afterwards, she would take him to go get ice cream as a reward. Clearly, Katie was not just our older sister. She was also our teacher, friend, and second mother.

Katie always surrounded herself with friends. She was constantly opening her ears, heart, and arms to someone in need. The phone was constantly ringing and her room was always crowded with people in it. Now, my house is silent.

I realize that getting caught in a pool of depression only leads to drowning. I live by looking for the positive in the worst situations. I now have a relationship with my parents and brother that means everything to me. I know what is important in life, and it is not always partying and getting A's. But most of all, I know that I can handle anything. Life is not easy, but I overcame one of its toughest obstacles.

I believe, the hardest part of death is the experiences it steals. Katie will not be clapping for me when I finally get my college diploma or giving me advice on my wedding day. My children will only hear stories of the girlhood of their aunt, both stories of reality and an imagined future.

I close my eyes as tight as they can go.

A diploma is placed in my hand. "I do" echoes from a distance. Katie says she loves me and hugs me tight on a September afternoon in 1993. Just before I cross my high school auditorium stage, I look out at the spectators in the bleachers, and I see mother and father and Kevin.

Katie is sitting right beside them, cheering me on.