It wasn’t the first time someone has ever lied to me, or even the second, but when someone promises something they can’t keep, that’s a whole different story. They say it will end soon, and you’ll be okay. But, when your family dies and you have nothing left, that’s when you hit rock bottom. People look at me with pity in their eyes, and I here them whisper to their neighbors, to their spouses, and even to their children. They say, “That poor girl…” or “That’s so sad, I can’t imagine what she’s going through…” No one will ever go through the pain I’m going through, or at least I pray they don’t.
Walking back into the house felt strange. There was a sense of sadness where there should be joy, but not really. I walk into my sister’s room, the familiar scent of her favorite perfume wafting in the air. The aroma hits my nose the minute I walk in. I see pictures of her and her friends on the walls, pictures of our family on her nightstand, so many memories… that all disappear from my mind, I can’t get over the shock of her leaving me or any of my family members. I know she and I didn’t have the best relationship, after all when your 5 years apart from your eldest sister there’s bound to be tension.
I walk to my parent’s room, the scent of aftershave and Old Spice hitting my nose like a ton of bricks. I automatically think of my dad, when he used to get up in the mornings for work - his ties and shoes still on the bed. My mother’s jewelry still lay scattered out all over her vanity, as well as her make-up. I remember in the mornings, when I was little I used to run into there room and sleep with them as well as waking them up sometimes, and when I had nightmares about the scary movie, that my older sister made me watch with her when I was 4 and she was 7. I would run into my parent’s room to find the comfort of my mother I needed.
I walk to my brother’s room next – holding back tears. I always used to despise my brother, because he was the baby of the family, and also the only boy. So naturally my parents babied him. Don’t get me wrong I was babied too, in a way since I was the youngest girl - but not as much as he was. All of his basketball awards lay on his desk, the cork board, and they even line the walls. All of our pictures together line the walls, some with all of us, and others with just me and him, or with just him and his friends. All of his homework, pages, and textbooks scattered all around his room and bed – I can still read his messy, boy-like handwriting. I can’t handle my family’s death, but most of all, my brother. He was the youngest. I would trade anything for me to die instead of him, or instead of all of them.
I walk to the last and final room, the one that I shared with my older sister. Her side of the room still messy and clothes are everywhere, with her lacrosse stuff scattered everywhere in sight. My side of the room still looks descent, my bed is made, some clothes scattered on the ground. We always used to fight and I would say, “I hate you!” or “I wish you weren’t my sister!” I look back at the way I lashed out so viciously, the way her face looked when I said that to her. She would respond in a manor more vicious than mine, her words like venom when she spat them at me. The truth is we would get along just fine, until one of us disagreed with the other. Then we would fight to win, and eventually forget about why we were mad at each other. I feel a sense of sadness wash over me as I know I will never get to fight with her again. It’s kind of like when you have an enemy, but there kind of a friend and you would miss them if they were gone. I start to cry the unshed tears I have for my family as my knees give in and my world floods with tears.
