I stare out the window as the raindrops pelt against it. The drops make a constant beating that’s starting to calm me.The raindrops on the window match the teardrops on my face. I watch a drop slide down the glass; a matching tear falls down my cheek. I haven’t stopped crying since we found out. My cheeks and nose are raw from continuously wiping them.

The news hit me hard. We all knew it was coming, but none of us wanted to believe that it was happening so soon. Chloe was an amazing person. She was always smiling and happy. Even through her multiple treatments, Chloe had a smile on her face. Chloe was diagnosed with brain cancer seven months ago. Last night, she passed away.

Chloe is… was my eight year old sister. She had been getting worse as her final days flew by, but she always had a smile on her face. I don’t think she understood what was actually happening, though. My mom held her hand as she took her last breath. We knew it was coming; we knew her fate was inevitable, but none of us were ready to actually say goodbye. The doctor had told us yesterday morning that the tumor was overriding her brain. He said she had eight hours to live; she lived only five and a half.

I keep replaying the moment over in my head. I had been sitting across the room when the monitor rapidly started to beep, and then fell to a constant ring of sound. My mom rushed to hit the nurse’s button: crying, screaming for the doctors to try something again, try something else to save her. As the doctors and nurses rushed in, I tuned out all the commotion and focused on that ringing sound. The ringing that told me that the tumor had taken over, and Chloe was gone. It was the worst moment of my mother’s and I lives. 

As the nurse unplugged Chloe from the many machines, I began to think about all the things that I would miss now that she was gone. She would never wake me up in the morning by jumping on my bed and screaming, “Amy! Amy!” over and over. We would never run another lemonade stand. And our family pictures will now always be incomplete. As annoying and troublesome as my sister was, I’m going to miss her like crazy. I’m never going to get over this.

I’m brought out of my thoughts as mom walks back into the room. She walks over to me and sits down, taking my hand in hers.

“How are you doing?” She asks quietly.

“Fine.” I whisper, not taking my eyes off of the window. She doesn’t say anything after that. She just sits there next to me, both of us crying. “Do you think it hurt?”

She shakes her head, taking a breath before she talks. “I don’t think so.” This makes me feel a little better knowing that Chloe’s passing was most likely peaceful.

Twenty four hours later, we’re driving to the funeral home. I dread going; I dread having to see all of the family members and friends that are going to be there. I don’t want to interact with anyone. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I want to be left alone. I want to suffer my sister’s death in peace.

Dressed in all black, we pull into the parking lot of the funeral home. We had been here before, years ago, when my Dad passed away. But it’s different now. This isn’t my dad-we had already mourned his death, this is my little sister; this is Chloe. Smiling, happy Chloe. I hold in a sob as I think about her. How could something so horrible happen to someone so happy? Why did this happen to Chloe?
The funeral is long. I feel like I’m trapped. Family members and friends offer their sympathy, but I don’t want it. I don’t want to thank people for saying sorry; I don’t want to tell people that I’m okay. I’m not okay. Nothing about this situation is okay. But in these situations, it’s not appropriate to say, “No, I feel like I’m dying inside.”

The funeral service is excruciating. The preacher drones on about Chloe and the life that she lived: “Chloe was a sweet, young girl; took from life too soon. She will be missed greatly.” This makes me mad. He doesn’t know Chloe! Why does he sound so monotone? How does he not even have a tear in his eye?

Aunt Bertha takes the stand, sobbing as she begins the chords to ‘Amazing Grace’. Uncle Eddy goes after her: talking about Chloe’s first birthday, when Chloe had covered her face with cake. That had been the one and only time Uncle Eddy had ever seen Chloe. Great Grandma Reece from Florida goes after Uncle Eddy, and her story makes me want to scream.

“Chloe was a bright young girl. She loved reading and she was at my house when she learned to ride her bike!” Chloe had never even met Great Grandma Reece: I was the one to learn to ride my bike in front of her house. She doesn’t even know which of her great grandchildren died! How can she stand up there and act so sad when she’s talking about the wrong great grandchild!

These people don’t know anything about Chloe. They didn’t watch her suffer like I had. I want to tell them who Chloe really was. Who she could’ve been; but I can’t get up and talk. My feet won’t allow me to move, and I know there’s no way I’d be able to find the words that I want to say. So I stay seated, watching as relative after relative get up and say a word or story about Chloe, yelling at them in my head when they get information wrong.

The drive to the cemetery is painfully silent. My mom keeps her eyes on the road, her lips set into a tight frown. She’s trying not to cry; and she’s failing miserably. She tries to hide a tear that falls down her cheek, but I see it. Chloe’s death hit her harder than it hit me. It has amazed me how strong she is. If my child died, I would be a wreck right now.
The rain pours down as we pull into the cemetery. It had been raining for the past week. Even Mother Nature is sad that Chloe is gone. We huddle together, my Mom and I, as the preacher says the final words, a final prayer is spoken, and Chloe is lifted off the ground and into the grave. We stay while the grave is filled with dirt, the rest of the our relatives and friends long gone to the reception. The rain is still pouring down and a rumble of thunder hides a sob that escapes my lips. We stand there for what seems like forever, and then we get back into the car, silently driving to the reception. There’s nothing we can do for her now; Chloe is really gone.