As the oldest granddaughter, Allison called our grandmother Nana. Nana is the matriarch of the family. She is a strong woman who can handle the weight of the world on her shoulders. But on that warm Thursday evening in July, our world changed. The phone rang. When my Mom picked it up, all I could hear was my mom repeating, “Mom, Mom what is wrong?” My mom listened to Nana frantically telling us that Grandpa and she were on their way to Indiana. My oldest cousin, Allison, had suffered a grand-mal seizure and had lost consciousness. Someone found her and called 911. She had stopped breathing, and the hospital was sending her by helicopter to a larger hospital. Mom wanted to leave immediately for Indianapolis, but we kept a vigil at home praying for a miracle. We would leave early the next morning, rushing to St. Vincent’s Hospital in Indianapolis.

“I’m driving as fast as I can!” muttered Dad. He drove with purpose. Usually he only drives the speed limit, but this time he went over the speed limit. Mom stared out the window, and then I heard her praying. I watched her cry and pray silently. She didn’t really cry two weeks ago when her grandma died, but Mom had said, “Grandma lived a full life at 93 years. Her last few years were not the quality of life any person should endure.” I gazed out the truck window wondering what was in store for us. I wasn’t really sure what to do. This whole trip just seemed unreal.

Reality set in as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Nana and Grandpa met us at the hospital entrance. We hugged, and looking into my grandparent’s eyes, all I could see was pain. We walked briskly to the elevator, unsure and nervous. How could this be happening to our family? Ding! The elevator doors opened, my feet felt like they were stepping out of cement. We passed the waiting room filled with people; some talking, others curled up napping and most sitting quietly staring out across the room. I wondered, “who were all these people here for Allison or for other patients in ICU?” As the day would progress, I would discover and meet the majority of the people, in the waiting room, had been touched by Allison in their lives one way or another.

Upon reaching Allison’s room, we saw a motionless body. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Bob were sitting on each side holding her hand. Then, they saw us, and Aunt Lisa seemed to sprint the ten steps toward us in hope. My Mom embraced her sister, as tears of sadness and fear flowed, and held her in her arms. Then, Aunt Lisa took Mom’s hand as we all walked into Allison’s room. She was being cared for on the Intensive Care Unit Floor. A plastic tube breathed for her. The noise sounded like the air pump you squeeze for an air mattress, when you go camping, but now the sound was breathing for my cousin. The machine was the only thing keeping her alive anatomically, but it would never be able to recover Allison’s brain function. Life support is a funny thing, because it provided us with more sorrow and pain than it did hope.


My family quietly sat in the room watching and praying for a miracle. All of life had been sucked out of Allison’s body as we faced the grim reality, that there would be no miracle in store for us. I had never seen my Nana cry, but that night, the pain and agony of watching every last bit of life being sucked away from her first granddaughter was too much. Allison had become a mere part of a machine as her brain was losing function.


Allison would be attached to life support for the duration of the day and the evening, but the effort was in vain. My Aunt Lisa was crying over her child’s bed. Mom and Nana would stay with her. I started to wander through the hospital, with my brother and my 9 year old cousin Rylee, Allison’s little sister. The dark walls of the hospital tormented me. I wondered, why Allison? I tried to escape and take my mind away for a moment watching TV and talking to family. But the machine keeping Allison alive still haunted my thoughts as I would walk through the hospital with family to take a break from the sorrow. The heavy presence was not felt two weeks prior when my great grandmother passed away, but she was ninety-three. Allison was only going to be twenty-three four days later.
We had been waiting for hours now, the rhythm of the life support machines had changed. Allison’s breath never returned. Her brain had stopped functioning. I wandered back into the room and hoped that she would fine and everything was normal. She was supposed to be celebrating her 23rd birthday in four days. Mom had even said she was going to get her birthday card to her on time this year. But now, I patiently sat quietly with Aunt Lisa, Mom and Nana in the ICU room. Time eroded away at our hope for any chance of a miracle. This was especially hard because I was close with Alli; we were not only cousins by family designation, but friends as well. Aunt Lisa then broke the silence, saying “Ali had one heck of a life.”
A doctor came in and Aunt Lisa and Uncle Bob followed him out into another room. Mom, Nana, and I stayed with Allison. Allison’s friends keeping vigil in the waiting room continued coming to the room, one fell to her knees in tears. Allison had a lot of friends. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Bob came back, Uncle Bob looked grey. His eyes were wet. Aunt Lisa sobbed. It was time… Then, a nurse came in and started a new I.V. and took blood. The machine keeping Allison with us in presence would slowly be shut down.
Allison’s zest for life would continue as a Gift of Life Donor. Aunt Lisa came back and said, “Alli could save 75 people!” Nana and Mom looked at Aunt Lisa and said, “Awesome!” Ali would go on to be a candidate donor, and she did end up saving at least three peoples lives last time I checked.

Allison was so unique. Every person had a story about her love for life and her smile. When Allison was in high school, she had taken flamingos from the neighbor’s yard, who turned out to be the Pastor at the church around the corner. Allison randomly handed the pink flamingos out to students leaving for the day. She would tell her classmates to,” Be happy! It’s pink flamingo Wednesday!” Unfortunately, the flamingos were a fundraiser for the Pastor’s church. Allison and her friend had to earn the money, to repay the Pastor so he could replace the Wednesday flamingos. Many stories like this could be told of her, as she lived life to the fullest every day. Reflecting upon her life, I learned that it is not how long you live, but what you do with life that matters. It does not matter if you live longer than anyone else if you don’t do anything with it. Allison did something with her life. She affected many people in a positive manner and had fun in doing so. That is what made her death so tragic; not only was she young, but she was someone who loved and lived life. I realized that I want to be someone who enjoys life, and not just someone who progressed through the motions. I want to live life to the fullest like Allison.