Inspired by a video game. Funny huh? But they have depth too sometimes. Don't judge.
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My story, my final story, is about a young girl who is near and dear to me. We had known each other all our lives, though I am her elder by a good two decades. It’s odd how great a bond we shared, despite everything that separated us. Whether it was age or distance, we seemed to grow closer and closer each day. I guess it may seem rather farfetched, but I couldn’t help but love her. She was, after all, my little sister.
Ever since she was born, my sister had always led a rough life. Not because she was picked on by other kids, nor was she abused at home. Simply, she was seriously ill. It’s been that way ever since she was born, from an infant struggling to take her first breath to the child who stays bed ridden to continue the fight. Yet she was so full of spirit and vigor with a light of naïve hope and innocence emanating from her. She was kind and gentle, yet stubborn enough to not give in to the teasing of boys frightened of cooties and to the assuredly fatal complication that now keeps her home schooled. But even as her body progressively got worse, her attitude of her young life only got better.
I’d gone away for several business trips all over the world. I take in as much of the culture and environment as I can, experiencing as much as one does in a lifetime within a couple of years. All the while, I can’t help but think about my poor sister back home. But I enjoyed myself in all these wonderful places because I knew she couldn’t wait to hear about what I did while I was away.
I lived separately from my parents and sister yet still relatively close by. Whenever I went to visit them, and after I received a warm greeting from my parents, I would find whatever room my dear sister was situated in at the time and sit down beside her, giving her a hug and a small trinket acquired from the most recent visit to some far off place. She beamed and ogled at whatever object I brought to add to her collection of items from lands she’ll never be able to see. I would hold back a tear every time as she innocently ran her delicate little fingers over it, then set it aside only to state up at me, knowing I had something new and exciting to tell her.
“Where did you go this time?” she would ask, her head resting against the side of my body as we both sat up on the bed, backs against the wall. I placed my arm around her shoulders gently and smiled. “Well I just got back from Africa,” one story went on, and I continued to tell her first about all of the people I met. She was mildly interested, yet she continued to stare up at me with her utmost attention. I went on to tell her of the foods I tried, and her cute face scrunched in disgust when I mentioned the bugs I had eaten, though they followed with a giggle. “What did it taste like?” she asked earnestly. “Like.. dirt and boogers,” I said laughing, and she laughed too. She began to cough, and I patted her on the back gently. We both stopped laughing after that and started to tell her about the animals I saw. How her eyes beamed when I described the sort of wildlife that lived out there. She had only seen them in books and on TV. She jumped with fright when I mentioned how close I was to becoming a lion’s dinner, and she became starry eyed when I mentioned the giraffe, one of her favorite animals. I continued with my story until everything was said. I didn’t spare a single detail, aside from those things that she was better off not knowing.
My visits home often went like this. After telling her my stories, she would go to sleep. I would talk to my parents until we all went to sleep. Then the next day, we would say our goodbyes as I left for another trip. But before I leave, I always promised my sister, “I will you see you soon and tell you another great story.” She would just nod weakly and wave as I got into my car and drove off.
It was not too long after that day and a few visits after that I received a call from my parents. The doctor had said that my sister didn’t have much time left, among other bad news. But the signs of her deterioration became apparent. She wasn’t as energetic or enthusiastic as she was before, and her senses seemed to have dulled. She would sometimes have difficulty seeing or hearing, and it wasn’t long until she couldn’t even muster the energy to get out of bed.
I was afraid. We all were. But we knew that it couldn’t be helped. We could only make her final days worth living. It was unsure of when she may pass on. I quit my job in order to spend as much time as possible for her. I had returned from my latest trip before quitting, so I had one more story to tell her. By this time, she would hardly move. I was heartbroken and almost burst into tears. But I stayed strong and held them back long enough for me to tell her about my latest visit to China. And as I continued to speak, I could see a faint smile on her lips.
I finished this story and placed my hand gently on hers. She felt cold, as if death were sitting on the other side of her. I could not bear to tell her that I quit my job, as my stories were the reason for her being so strong all this time. So I told her, “I’ll be home for a while. But don’t worry. I have many more stories to tell you.” I could feel my eyes well up with tears. “I’m going to my house, but I promise, I’ll see you soon and tell you them when I come tomorrow.” I left the house, crying the whole drive back to my place.
I had lied. How terrible it was to lie to her. But I couldn’t disappoint her. Not now. Not when she needs me the most. So every day after that, I would come to her with a story I made up as I went along. To complete the tale, I would place an object for her to hold and say it came from the place I never visited. I almost cried each time, pressing my hand gently but firmly around hers as she used what little strength she had to hold onto the object, her fingers trembling beneath mine. At this point, she didn’t open her eyes, and she couldn’t speak a word. But those stories did such wonders for her, because she would always try to smile. Her lip would tremble under the sheer lack of strength she had available to move her muscles. And every time I ended the story, I made the same promise of another the next day. “I’ll see you soon with another story.”
The opportunity never arose again. Within a month’s time, the illness had done so much damage to her body that it was far beyond repair. Just as I began to tell her another made up story, her grasp had loosened so much around the same round trinket she’s held time and time again, that it fell to the floor with a hollow sound. I sat there, staring at her for the longest time, my body beginning to weaken. I tried my hardest not to break down, grasping at what little hope there was left. But the fact still remained: she was gone.
It was a most solemn occasion which garnered a rather large group of people. Those who have had the pleasure of meeting my sister brought friends and family who have known nothing but stories and were merely touched by the young girl’s life. They offered their condolences, but they couldn’t even scratch the surface of the sort of pain me and my parents were going through. We just knew that, for her, the pain was over.
When the doctor had called us that day to tell us of her condition, he also mentioned something even more heart wrenching. Whatever it was that killed my sister ran in the family. It was a rare occurrence, but both of us had it, and it lay dormant within me for all this time. She just had the misfortune of having it active sooner. Upon hearing this, I knew that I would not be far from where my sister is now.
Before leaving her again, I knelt down and placed a flower over the grave. My eyes began to flood with tears, and I closed my eyes causing them to overflow. My lips trembled, and my hands began to shake. It was as if I could feel whatever it was coursing through me. But I had to be strong. For her.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said before getting up to go. “And I’ll tell you of my journey to find you.”
I await the day we can see each other again.
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