Nobody's Home
Alright, before I start my next rant, you're probably wondering why I named this entry "Nobody's Home." My answer: look up the song by Avril Lavigne. Don't fuss, just do it then come back and read. You can add a new tab to whatever device you're reading this from. It isn't hard. I believe in your abilities.
Now, where was I? As time went on, my sisters and I grew apart, in case you didn't catch the context clues from my first post and need everything spelled out for you. They all ended up going to Arizona State for college, and I had to pick up and move by my sophomore year of high school. I'm getting ahead of myself. If I remember correctly, my next big event was when I had just turned 10, and it was my Spring Break vacation. That's when my cousin died. PawPaw at least died of natural causes (heart attack), but Keith was very sudden. Most of my Spring Break was spent in and out of the hospital, never actually being able to see him or say goodbye to him. Yeah, I know, heartbreaking. He died from a motorcycle accident, so I'm not sure I wanted to see him anyway. I guess I'll never know, regardless. I'll never forget the look on my Julie's face as she came out of the ICU, bawling her eyes out. My sister and I aren't close by ANY spark of the imagination. Out of the three of them, I get along with her the least, but there is connection in death I suppose. She was traumatized, and I had to comfort her. It was my job at the time, so there I was, on an uncomfortable hospital chair, fresh off a four hour flight from Columbus for my Spring Break, trying to calm down my oldest sister. Long story short, traumatic. For all parties involved. I think the worst part of this story is how I found out he finally died. Okay, background information needed. Keith was in a bad motorcycle accident for going too fast down winding roads, and he ended up being flung from his motorcycle onto the asphalt. It took forever for the rescue teams to get to him, so he ended up brain dead in the hospital; he was a vegetable. A very bruised and broken vegetable. For most of the week, my aunt and uncle decided to keep him on life support, but, ultimately ended up taking him off one night. It took him four hours to die that night. Here is where we pick back up: the most traumatic part. Since I couldn't be at the hospital and I had a "bedtime," my grandma and I stayed back at her house while everyone else went to the hospital to be with him in his last moments. I know, what the fuck? I can't be there for that?! Anyway, my grandma got a call from my aunt. When she first got on the call, she came over to my "bed" (her couch) to make sure I was sleeping. I was faking, in case you didn't know. She continued her call in the dining room (connected to the living room where I was supposed to be sleeping), and I could hear every word. They talked about how bad he looked, how he couldn't say or do anything, how they pulled the plug and now they are waiting for him to die. Okay, I was 10. I was balling my eyes out at this point. But I was asleep! So I had to stay silent. How could I?! I wanted to scream or throw something or DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where my hopelessness truly began.
Now, where was I? As time went on, my sisters and I grew apart, in case you didn't catch the context clues from my first post and need everything spelled out for you. They all ended up going to Arizona State for college, and I had to pick up and move by my sophomore year of high school. I'm getting ahead of myself. If I remember correctly, my next big event was when I had just turned 10, and it was my Spring Break vacation. That's when my cousin died. PawPaw at least died of natural causes (heart attack), but Keith was very sudden. Most of my Spring Break was spent in and out of the hospital, never actually being able to see him or say goodbye to him. Yeah, I know, heartbreaking. He died from a motorcycle accident, so I'm not sure I wanted to see him anyway. I guess I'll never know, regardless. I'll never forget the look on my Julie's face as she came out of the ICU, bawling her eyes out. My sister and I aren't close by ANY spark of the imagination. Out of the three of them, I get along with her the least, but there is connection in death I suppose. She was traumatized, and I had to comfort her. It was my job at the time, so there I was, on an uncomfortable hospital chair, fresh off a four hour flight from Columbus for my Spring Break, trying to calm down my oldest sister. Long story short, traumatic. For all parties involved. I think the worst part of this story is how I found out he finally died. Okay, background information needed. Keith was in a bad motorcycle accident for going too fast down winding roads, and he ended up being flung from his motorcycle onto the asphalt. It took forever for the rescue teams to get to him, so he ended up brain dead in the hospital; he was a vegetable. A very bruised and broken vegetable. For most of the week, my aunt and uncle decided to keep him on life support, but, ultimately ended up taking him off one night. It took him four hours to die that night. Here is where we pick back up: the most traumatic part. Since I couldn't be at the hospital and I had a "bedtime," my grandma and I stayed back at her house while everyone else went to the hospital to be with him in his last moments. I know, what the fuck? I can't be there for that?! Anyway, my grandma got a call from my aunt. When she first got on the call, she came over to my "bed" (her couch) to make sure I was sleeping. I was faking, in case you didn't know. She continued her call in the dining room (connected to the living room where I was supposed to be sleeping), and I could hear every word. They talked about how bad he looked, how he couldn't say or do anything, how they pulled the plug and now they are waiting for him to die. Okay, I was 10. I was balling my eyes out at this point. But I was asleep! So I had to stay silent. How could I?! I wanted to scream or throw something or DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where my hopelessness truly began.
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