Because It Needs To Be Told.

** I Should make this disclaimer... I feel weird about posting this, though I don't know why. I knew I would eventually, but I can't tell you why now. I can tell you that I didn't write it to sound eloquent, or well spoken. I just wrote it. It is what it is.
If you are looking for something light to read, trust me, this is not going to be it.**

Thursday, February 1st, 2001...

I didn't feel like going to school. I got up and got dressed anyway. I really couldn't afford to miss anymore classes, and I still had nearly two full months left in the quarter. So, I went about the usual morning routine, got in my car, and started driving the 30 minutes to my community college.
A funny thing happened when I was nearly there. All of a sudden, I decided to go to my mom's house. I really wasn't feeling very well anyway, and I decided I just wanted to go there. I love my family, and the oldest of my two younger sisters and I were very close, but I usually am not someone who hides at mom's. I definitely don't have the sweet, warm kind of relationship with my mom that Lara David has with hers.
So I randomly drove to mom's.
My sister, who worked nights at a nursing home, was just getting ready to go to sleep for awhile. She was fixing a bottle for Tristan, her then 18 month old son. It was probably around 10 in the morning when I got there, as I didn't have my early class that morning and had left later than usual. My sister had, for some reason, pulled a mattress out onto the living room floor to sleep. I laid down and curled up with her and the baby. I gave them hugs and kisses and I love yous. We took a lovely nap together for an hour and a half or so, and then I left because I had to go to work.
I had no idea that nothing would ever be the same after that.

Thursday night I went to a Bible study. It was a habit for them to pray for whoever wanted prayer, before we went home. As the group was praying for someone I suddenly choked up. I caught myself on the edge of a sob that came from nowhere. A little girl voice had risen up inside of me, and I felt like saying; "I want my mommy." I had this nearly uncontrollable urge to go to my mom's house, which was nearby, but I new that I would stay too long, and I really needed to get home and go to bed, I had early classes in the morning that I definitely could not miss. Anyway, it was 9pm and my sister had already left for work across town.
I called my mom. She was light hearted, all was well.
I went home to bed.

Friday, February 2nd, 2001.

I got up early and drove to school for a 7:30 class. I sat on the far right side of the room, in the very front row. At around 8am a faculty member came into our classroom and I asked for me by name. I was not alarmed. She asked to talk to me, and told me to bring my stuff. It seemed odd, but I thought for some reason it might have something to do with my financial aid. Once we were out of the classroom she told me that my mom was on the phone.
I was annoyed.
It didn't initially occur to me that something might be wrong.
I wondered what she might be calling about, and verbally reprimanded her in my head.
Just as I got to the door of the office where the phone was waiting, it began to dawn on me that this wasn't quite right.
I came in and a woman handed me the phone.
"Hello?"
I wasn't annoyed anymore, just curious.
My Mother was very calm on the other line.

"Amanda?... There's been an accident"
"Who?" I asked. But I think I already knew.
"Chelle." And that is when I heard the wavering in her voice, and that is when I was afraid. My mom is like granite, an immovable force.
"is she okay?"
A sniff and a pause then..
"it doesn't look good. You need to come to the hospital."
I told her okay mom, I will be right there, but before I could go she caught me. "Amanda? Do I need to send your brother to get you? Are you ok to drive? I can't handle two accidents today."
I told her I was fine to drive, and I was.
I was very, very, eerily calm.
Everything was very clear.
I hung up the phone, thanked the woman who's desk it belonged to, and walked out of the room without looking back. I walked toward the parking lot, but stopped at the last building on campus, the one with all the business classes. I went inside the main doors to the phone, and called Janet Kruckenberg, a dear friend, and the secretary at my church. I told her that my sister had been in an accident, it didn't look good, please call the prayer chain, and I had to go now. It was all very calm. I hung up, went to my car, and drove to the hospital. I still felt super clear, but shaky underneath.
On the cd player in my car, Steven Curtis Chapman sang; "We can cry with hope, we can say goodbye with hope, cuz we know our goodbye is not the end." When the song ended he sang; "Be still and know that He is God."
At the hospital I didn't know where to go. I wandered in the emergency room doors, but didn't see anyone I knew. When I asked about my sister they had to look for her name, and as someone started to direct me down the hallway, my mom appeared and I followed her to an emergency waiting room on the first floor. My Aunt Ruth was there. Her oldest daughter Stephanie was there, Whitney was there.
I asked Mom who knows.
Her family, and Dad.
"Someone needs to call Uncle Bob."
"Okay, give me the phone numbers."

As my family sat, not really holding back tears, informing me the little they knew, that my sisters Ford Escort had collided with a snow plow, I dialed numbers.
I called everyone.
It was a bad accident and we didn't want anyone to see it on the news. I didn't want anyone to see it on the news. I wouldn't want to.
I called my dad's side of the family. I called the friends we grew up with. I called all of my sisters friends I had numbers for. I called all the family friends I could think of, and then I called my people. Some already knew by now.
Benita, whom I lovingly refer to as "rent-a-mom" (because I lived with her family at the time) worked at the same place as my sister. She got the call through the church prayer chain.

After an hour or so the Doctor came in to ask us permission to amputate my sisters left leg above the knee. My mom started weeping. The leg was pretty much destroyed and they really needed her body to focus on stopping the pressure in her brain if she was going to live. Too much blood was being diverted to the lower extremities. We said a resounding "take the leg." We would rather have her missing a piece than not have her at all. Prosthetics are amazing these days.
At that time, there was a little bit of hope.
They amputated the leg.
After another hour, my father and grandmother were there. A little while after that they were moving us to a waiting room in the Neuro ICU area. That was where we lived for three days. Most of my family, many friends, and a few stragglers who wandered in and out. We took the place over.
We prayed, with my pastor and his wife and most of my church leadership team, my whole family, in a circle, on our knees. People who don't pray. My grandfather. All of us in that waiting room like a sad bunch of sardines.

The rest is partially a big blur. They were not optimistic, but I believe in prayer, so we prayed, and we hoped. We went in and talked to her and held her hand, as the pressure ravaged her brain, and the drugs ravaged her body. She had 17 blood transfusions.

Then, suddenly, the pressure would start to drop. They would wheel her away and do tests. It looked a tiny bit more hopeful. Whatever you are doing, they said, keep doing it. My friend Amy worked upstairs in Peds. She came down around 2am Friday night and brought my cousin Stephanie and I up to find some scrubs to wear, and walk around a little. She encouraged my family. You gotta have hope.
She should know. Once pried out of a mangled car herself, locked there by a drunken driver. She was her own miracle story.

Saturday was again with the up and down. It doesn't look good...but now it looks better, keep doing what you are doing.
It was agonizing.
Then, we were calm, and things seemed ok for a little while.
Chaplains had been coming to visit with us, no doubt to prepare us for the worst. They were nice though at first.
One of them finally said to my mom, when news was bad, as if they were at a complete loss for understanding; "Why are you surprised? You knew there was no hope." At that moment all of my very good manners went out the window, and every ounce of christian indignation I have ever felt replaced them. I stood up in her face. "Don't you dare speak to my mother again. Of course we have hope. We will continue to have hope." I was not kind. I stalked away.

I didn't eat. I didn't sleep.

Saturday night three of the best friends I have ever had, pulled me into a little side part of the waiting room, gave me a shot of Nyquil and laid around me on the floor in the dark, willing me to rest.
I felt strength ooze into me from them, my mighty pillars. Finally, I slept an hour.
Christian and Melanie went home.
At 2am Saturday morning I woke up, and Stephanie came in.
"Its at 90." she said, and the tears fell. Pressure. Pressure in the brain at 90.

I think we knew that was it.
I called Christians house at 2 in the morning, despite the fact that he lived with his parents. I woke them up, but who cares?

We went into her room one by one and talked to her. We prayed. We tried.
I had a breakdown in the hallway, in front of my cousins and my dad and uncle. They had to catch me. That was the only time.

Somehow we made it to 8am. The Nuerosurgeon (who we loved), came in and told us; "She's gone on."
My aunt asked, "What does that mean?" As everyone started to weep.
It would be hours more though, waiting for the organ donor folks and whatnot.

We gathered around her bed and held hands. We sang to her. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you'll never know dear how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away."
We stayed. Until all the tests were done. We stayed to find out if her organs were viable. We stayed to find out that her heart, a perfect match for an eight year old in Canada, had had too many drugs flow through it to be used. Our hearts broke again.
Some did recieve life from my sister though. Kidney's, at least, gave two people another chance at life. One of them, was a nursing aid, just like my sis.

I kissed her on the forehead and they took her away...but she was already gone.

I had to go with my brother and a friend, to the car. There was a wedding ring on her keychain, and we needed to salvage anything possible from her car while we could. Anything of hers. I cannot even begin to describe it to you, or bring you to imagine my shock. The hood was gone. All of the airbags were a tattered mess. The top of the car was pulled back. The driver's seat wasn't even in the car. We stared at the carseat that had horrified the EMT's who responded to the accident. They were sure a child had been in the car, and frantically searched the side of the road for him.

I went home and sent a quick email, and then I planned a funeral. My mom and I both went to the funeral home, she talked to them. I did everything else. I talked to the news. I talked to the paper. I was the spokesperson for the family.
I did what I had to do, what I was good at doing.

By the time we left the hospital, we had gone through such emotional, physical, and spiritual pain, we were almost dry for a couple of days. A couple days after, my Mom, Tristan, Whitney and I were living at My Aunt Ruths house, and half the rest of the family was visiting. Hysterical laughter came and went. It's the balance to the emotional pendulum...especially in my family.

I had to track down my sisters best friend. Ugh. They hadn't spoken lately. She was living on the other side of the state. I had to call her mom at work, horrible. We had grown up next door to them for years. I had to tell her mom at work, that my sister had just died. Tegan thought I was calling because someone was getting married. I will never forget that phone call till the day it is my turn to go home. Tegan, her voice turning from pleasant surprise to agonizing shock.

The world for me, ceased to turn.
All the things that seem so important normally, fell completely off of my radar. I didn't go to work, I didn't go to school. I sat on my Aunts couch and stared out the big bay window, at that early morning grey before the world wakes. That is what I can picture the most clearly about those days. Sometimes, the smell of their house will still remind me.
I sang at the funeral. Jesus, Be The Centre.
Be my hope, be my trust. Be the fire in my heart, be the wind in these sails, be the reason that I live, Jesus.
What else is there? Nothing right then.

Two months. We were at my aunts. Eventually, of course, I was working. I had to. Still, we stayed. We couldn't bear to leave. I cried out a lot of tears. I hugged my cousins. I carried my nephew around. We sat at the table and brought up every quirk of every family member that had ever come and gone. We rehashed every hilarious childhood memory we could think of.

Eventually, it was time to go home.
Mom, had the hard part of going home to Chelle's room, and Chelle's things. We all had the hard part of just going on.
That's the real test.
Going back to living.

I feel that I recovered as well as one can. I feel like I got through it okay, because of my faith. I felt very close to God in those days. I am still me in so many ways. But then, in other ways...
I am inexplicably changed.
I can't even put my finger on it.
There is just a part of me that will never be the same.
Just when I think everything is normal, I feel it there, that difference in me that will never go away.
I think it is just that she is missing.
Not even the tragedy that took her, just her missing-ness.
We were seventeen months apart and she shared all of my memories, so its like half of my memories are missing.
It's as if the way I see things now is not holistic. It's like I only see part of the picture.

I am less secure about my family. She took care of everyone, and I am not her. I can never be her. There is an adhesive in my family that is gone now. If you knew us, you would understand. She was, as Whitney would say, the peanut butter. None of us is peanut butter. The sandwhich just doesn't stick together the way it used to.
I am still learning to find the good in the bad.
I would never have this relationship with Whitney if we had't suffered this together. She is the best. Still, we both know that we can never be her. We can never hold everyone together the way she did. We can never make mom stop wimpering in her sleep.
It is what it is.

She is gone.
I loved her. She was my biggest fan. She was the best of us. All the good things from all the family genes, compiled into one glowing girl.
I will never be whole again until I see her in heaven.

Fortunately, she has the good side of the story. Where she is, there is no more pain or suffering, and for that, I am truly glad.