A broken Machine still works

Sometimes, I feel like a broken machine. Like now. I can remember bits and pieces of my childhood, but mostly it's black, remembered only by stories. It makes me sad. Because when I was in kindergarden and below, that's when my sister was healthy and up and running. I remember her having long hair, and I remember going to Fountain Point. Actually, like I said, I don't think I really remember any of this, but re-encounter it through pictures and stories. But I am so glad for those little priveliges. Well, actually, I guess that not even the camera is a privlige for me, because I'm banned from my dad's camera until I'm 13, but you get the point.

Come to think of it, I can't remember much before 3rd grade. I do remember through stories, though, like I have been saying. In 1st grade, my big sister Carrie was diagnosed with lukiemia. I didn't really understand what it meant, even though my mom had to explain it to me a gazillion bajillion times. Carrie and Luke both explained it to me, and I kind of got it. They didn't really go into the details, and now I know why. They told me that it was a disease in the blood, and that it wasn't anything to worry about. I'm sure they told me that, because, I was just a little kid. I didn't understand anything. I didn't understand algebra, or cancer. I didn't understand calculus (oh wait! I still don't!) or grammar, or even cursive. I didn't understand anything. Amazing what 6 years will do to your knowledge.

My sister, I'll call her Carrie, was many things. She was a poet. And an amazing poet too. Look in "Carrie's work", it's in the left toolbar, and you'll see. Carrie's Candle, is named after one of her poems. She was beautiful, no amount of chemo can take away that. She can lose all of her hair, and her eyebrows, but there wasn't one person who could see her and say she was ugly. It was really the inner beauty that stuck me though. OK, that sounds totally mushy. I didn't really mean to be mushy, but it's totally true! She was the most incredible girl I have ever met. She was a great listener, for starters. She wrote a happy list, which named all the things that would make her happy. She never finished it, and it was still 2 pages long. She would look at it whenever she was upset or sad or angry. It was a really good idea, but that's not what I was trying to tell you. On her happy list, she had "giving Scott girl advice." Oh, if only she were here now to help him with his love life now! She was a caring, beautiful, nice, amazing girl. I think I could name more good things about her than I could about anyone else. She was just amazing.

I was in 2nd grade the next year (obviously), and Carrie was getting a lot better. Or so it seemed. (Dun, dun, dun!!!!!) Well, I had Ms. Reid that year. I can't tell if I actually remember having her or if it was just a story that kind of jogged my memory. Well, anyway, we learned cursive. I remember being really bored because in 1st grade, my mom got me a cursive book. She wanted me to learn it early, or something. So in 2nd grade, when we were learning it officially, I was super bored. I got in trouble sometimes for not doing much. Nothing too bad, just had a little chat with the teacher. So anyway, this story isn't about my teacher getting mad at me for already knowing the material, is it? No. This is about Carrie. Well nothing really happened when I was in 2nd grade. It was in 3rd grade. That was the year. The horrible, horrible year. I remember it. This time, I don't feel like a broken machine wanting to work. I do remember it. At least I think I do.

Beginning of 3rd grade. Eh, not the greatest year. My sister was in the hospital. So what? We still did our little dances now and then. Whenever she was home, we would get up and dance to "American Girl", just like old times. It was really fun. Just like old times. It wasn't until march that I heard the horrible news. She was going into relapse. I didn't know what that meant, so Luke told me. It meant that she was going to go into a much more severe round of chemo, and that the doctors have one more chance of saving her. They needed to do a bone marrow test. Scott and I were both a match, but since he had more blood, he was going to donate. I was disappointed, but whatever. So the doctors had to do one last test on her to see if she could go through with the bone marrow transplant. She failed the test. I remember that. For real, this time, I swear.

The doctors couldn't do anything else for Carrie. She was going to die.

I felt like my throat had been locked up with water and dried out with sand at the same time. I wanted to cry but couldn't. I was too choked up to talk. I knew that Carrie wanted to have a normal time with her family before she died, but I felt like I couldn't give her that. I hugged her over and over and over again until she was being suffocated and my mom said I had to let go. I did, but followed her everywhere. I guess I wanted the most possible time with her.

We did a lot of things that week before she died. We (Luke, Scott, and Carrie) went to Super Just Games. I pushed Carrie around and Luke and Scott went off on their own. Our whole family went to Dave and Busters, the Cubs/Sox game (HILARIOUS!! Dad, Scott, and Luke got big L's on their foreheads!) She was so full of life at these times.

I remember the day it happened. My mom woke me up at 5 in the morning. I pretty much sleptwalked to their bedroom.

"Nora, Scott, Carrie's dead." My mom had told us in a soft whisper. It sounded like she wanted to go louder but couldn't, like her throat had been locked up and she couldn't find the key. I jumped up, suddenly wide awake, not seriously believing that my sister was dead.

That day was a blur. So was her wake and funeral. I remember the day she died, our family friend sent me a letter from her camp. Enclosed were 2 friendship bracelets. "One for you and one for Carrie, so she can get better." Said the message with the bracelets. It made me sad.

Fourth grade was hard. It was the year everybody was asking and saying "Sorry". I hated hearing that word. They didn't do anything. Why were they sorry? That was the year my family and I started going to Heartlight, a grieving group. Gets old after a while, but helpful….especially at first. That was the year that everybody found out about my sister's death.

Fifth grade I was still struggling, but I found my Best Friend EVER! Her name was Prudence Bickhaus, and she helped me through my troubles. She reminded me of Carrie a lot. She had a great personality. Caring, a good listener, funny, smart, and really, REALLY nice. I love her almost as much as I love Carrie.

Sixth grade was when all the trouble started that I really needed an older sister to lean on. Prudence moved away. My only connection was phone and email - - - Thank God for cyberspace! Well, that was the year the pressure really started to build. All this drama I had never had before came. All this boy trouble came. All these decisions. I really wish Carrie were there to help me out with those things.

Seventh grade. Ahh. I really, really, wish that Carrie were here. I think I'm beginning to learn how to cope without her however. She was amazing.

Today, a kid in my class. His name is Grant. Well, he was telling me about his uncle. His uncle apparently has a blood disease that could turn into lukiemia. I was asking him questions about it. He said he was on the 4th stage of cancer. Might I add that I know waaay too much about lukiemia OR cancer? Well I asked what that meant. Remission, relapse, diagnosis? And he said it wasn't any of those, he didn't know the name of it.

"Wait, how do you know so much about cancer." I kind of smiled to this question and shrugged.

"Did someone in your family have cancer?" To this I nodded.

"Who?" He sounded sympathetic.

"My sister." I kind of said it strongly and pretended to be really focused with my work. (I usually am working, it's just that it was Spanish class and we were doing some stupid assignment about writing down all the foods we have for Thanksgiving. That's what we did…the whole period. It was pretty boring.)

"Is she ok?" He said it kind of softly. I half-laughed and shrugged.

"Not…exactly." I thought about what I would say.

"Do you not want to talk about it?" I couldn't believe how nice he was being about the whole thing. Not that he isn't usually. Nice, I mean. He is. It's just that, I think he was being sympathetic without really trying all that hard. That's a heck of a lot better that most people who try really hard and fail totally. I shook my head vigerously. Kind of. And he said,

"OK. I think I know what happened." To this I looked up and half-smiled.

"Yeah, I bet you can guess." I wouldn't have said it out loud. Her name is the only connection I have to her now, and I don't really like to share her name with anyone but my family and friends. I guess he's my friend, but not so much a close friend. Plus, since his uncle might have lukiemia, I didn't want to say, "My sister had lukiemia and died." That would be kind of rude. No, not kind of. Really rude and kind of mean. No, not really. Kind of rude and really mean. There we go.

My family and I are hosting a foreign exchange student soon. Her name is Sonni. And she's from Finland. I guess she can substitute as an older sister. At least for a little while.

I almost forget what it's like to have an older sister. I don't have much left. No new pictures. The last ones we have of her was when she was 18, seeing to that's when she died. She would be almost 22 now. That's crazy. I wish she were here to see us. Luke's getting married in 7 months and counting. That's even crazier! Scott is trying new things, like the 36-math problem. That's not crazy, but it's pretty cool. I wish she were here to see how we've all grown up.

Now, my aunt Patty has a heart failure, and we're all waiting frantically for her to get a heart. I can't believe that fate----or God, would put us through the torture of seeing a family member go. I don't think he would do that, and I have strong faith that Patty is going to be more than OK in a couple of months.

My class watched a video of Opera the other day. It was about a high school class, on "Challenge Day". Where a large number of students got together and played games and such. Opened up to each other. One of the activities was to finish this sentence to a small group of people;

"If you really knew me, you'd know that ______________" Blankety Blank Blank. Well, I thought about what I would say. And I would say,

"If you really knew me, you'd know that I am mad at fate, but I still don't believe in it, even though I do." OK, OK, confusing, right? Well. I do believe in fate. I don't though. I don't think you can just sit around and expect a miracle to come. Sit around being a couch potatoe and not go to college and expect your perfect match to come flying through the door saying, "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for ya baby!" No! Hate to break it to you, but you actually have to work in this world. Go to college and whatever you need to do, and everything will fall into place. That's what I believe. I think that if you work hard to get where you're going, then God and Fate will give you a little rest. A little gift. Not really noticeable, but that's what I believe.

I am so scared for Aunt Patty. I love her and my cousins (her kids). I feel so bad for them because I don't want them to go through the same thing I did. I don't want anybody to. That's a horrible thing to wish upon anyone. It's horrible. Horrible.

Sometimes I whisper my sister's name to myself, just to keep her alive. But as I look on this site, I realize, that Carrie has not only affected hundreds, but will keep her light burning in hundreds of hearts as well. And I know I'm not a broken machine for sure now, because I feel Carrie's Candle in my heart as well. And I always will.