Carina Bobé Graniela (1984-1997).
Te amaremos siempre y nunca te olvidamos...
I just want to hold on to this moment forever. How do you redefine something that never really had a name? We’ve always had this bond that made our relationship much more special, closer, different than any relationship sisters have. I now believe that some loves can live on forever, for an eternity, even after death.
I don’t even have to speak. Words just dissolve in the air; and tears run down my cheeks and fall upon my pillow. I hold on to my pillow tight. Sometimes I think that if I hold on to it long enough, it could turn into her. I know something like that isn’t possible. How silly of me- wishing that a pillow was her! I guess I just don’t want to look at reality in the face. It might scare me. Eventually I have to. I’ve spent too long living off my dreams and off wishes that will never come true.
You’d think that three years is long enough to relieve the pain that I carry buried deep in my heart. Three years of living off of memories, of being sorry for every second that I could have spent with her, sorry for being selfish and childish. If I could just go back for a second and make sure that she knew how much I love her, how she meant the world to me. Three years that I feel have gone by as fast as the blink of an eye, or as fast as her last breath of air.
But I have to be strong. I sit up straight in my bed. I take a deep breath as I dry the tears away from my eyes. I can’t let anybody see how weak and fragile I really am. I’m the one who pulled my parents together; I was the strong one. Someone had to be strong for mom and dad- she would have wanted that. She didn’t like to see them cry. So I did what she would have done. I swallowed it all up and walked away to lock myself up in my room, to secretly and silently cry myself to sleep, again. But would she have really done that? Would she have hidden her pain from the world if the situation were the other way around? It scares me to say this, but I don’t know. Everyone thinks that an experience like mine could break you. It does, but it also makes you stronger. You lose so much, but you gain an incredible amount of courage, strength and faith.
It was not so long ago that the tropical forest that was my life turned into a dry, hopeless desert. I’m 15 now; but I was just a 9-year-old kid when it felt like my world had fallen and crushed me under it- and that was just the beginning. I was 9, she was 10. We were at the beach- us, my parents, my cousins, friends- just a whole bunch of family gathered under the burning July sun at one of the beautiful beaches of Cabo Rojo. God, I loved it! I loved it every time we all got together. But this time it was different. There was a certain feeling in the air- a thickness that suffocated me. I thought it was the heat; but it felt like something was holding me inside so tight that it hurt- like it just wanted to hold on to me. I just ignored it and went back to play in the water. We were playing, and my cousin accidentally kicked my sister in the knee. It immediately swelled up. Almost a month went by and the swelling wouldn’t go down. We were worried, and we went to get some x-rays done. We were called in to get the results, and at the time there was a certain commotion at the doctor’s office. When he put the plaque up against the light, there was a sudden silence. My mom is a nurse, and when she looked at that x-ray, her eyes just looked like someone had taken the life out of her. I’ll never forget that look. They were just blank, astonished, bloodless eyes looking at a white mass that was on my sister’s leg bone, close to where she had been kicked. Mom grabbed both of us and stormed out of the office before the doctor even began to talk.
My sister and I didn’t know what was going on. We got home and she started making calls. She was crying, desperate, pleading for help. They took my sister to the hospital, only to confirm our biggest fear. She had ostiosarcoma …… cancer. “Six months to live”, they said. I was halfway into my 5th grade and my parents insisted that I finish school in Puerto Rico, then I could move with them to Boston. We found a hospital that could treat her - the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.
For the three years of practically living in a hospital, of seeing how my sister would get better and then suddenly start falling all over again, after 4 operations- each over six hours long, so many treatments, chemiotherapy; it just didn’t seem enough. It wasn’t enough to destroy a plague that took every second of life, every breath of air, any ray of hope- every chance of life.
She didn’t complain- not ever, not once. Never did I hear her say anything bad against her illness. She never complained of the pain, she never said that she felt bad or sick or hurting. When people asked her how she felt, she’s always say “better” or “alive”. She had a passion, willingness to fight, to live, or just to die. She knew. Before the doctors knew, she knew. She was ok with it; she understood.
After three years of efforts in vain, we came to Puerto Rico- home. Finally, we were home, surrounded by a mural of family and friends, with a pillar of faith in God- everyone just praying for a miracle. I sat back and watched as life slowly drained out of her. By then, I had calmed my hate- actually converted into a more mature, spiritual, thankful 12-year-old; whose 13-year-old sister slowly died in front of her.
I woke one morning to find my mom and dad beside the bed where my sister lay- closed eyes and that smile on her face. Her eyes had closed, never to open again. She had died in my mom’s arms. They were crying, but it wasn’t so much of a cry- it was rather the wail, the pleading- the sound of a heart stabbed to death by death. After that, I remember nothing. I think I blocked it all out. I had to be strong, because I could have crumbled and slipped through the cracks.
And so tonight I sit here on my bed again. And I replay it all over again in my head, night after night. Like an angel, I know she’s here. Everything I am, I owe it to her. She showed me character and strength that I’ll never find in anything else. She taught me to live, to love, to forgive, to be thankful. I guess I ran out of tears. I let go of my pillow, put it back where it’s supposed to be. As I lay in my bed, I look out the window and I can see that one star that is always there, in the same place, night after night. It’s distant, shining up above; yet it feels so close. The moon’s reflection lights up my room and I remember how my sister is named after a star. I smile. “Good night Carina”. Close my eyes to wake up another day, to live it all over again. “Thank you God. Good night Carina”.