Open Your Heart

It has been almost 3 months since my last post. And I know that is a recipe for disaster for a blog, and I could make up all sorts of excuses. But I won’t.

I am back today to share with you all something very close to my heart. I don’t know if anyone will read this, and if, then I don’t know who. I just wanted to get this out, as it has been weighing on me for almost a year now.


Losing someone you love to anything (an illness, a car crash, an accident) is something that happens to people all around the world every day. But somehow, you are so sure that something like that could never happen to you. It’s always on the news: mass murders, war, children getting cancer, it’s all around you. You probably drive by it every day on your way to work, whether it be a dark alley, or the hospital. And yet it is so far away, surreal almost.

That’s how it was for me. It was always just in the back of my head and the possibility of someone close to me leaving this world before I was ready to part with them never crossed my mind. Then my best friend got sick. My best and only friend at the time. The only person I could turn to when I had boyfriend drama, or if I was homesick in a land thousands of miles away from my own family. She was my boyfriend’s little sister, not quite 19, the kindest person that had a billion acquaintances who all only had good things to say about her and always wanted to feel loved by her. How can someone so young be so pure and wise? If there is such a thing as a soul mate, she is it for me.

When I found out that she had leukemia 1 year after my boyfriend’s oldest sister was diagnosed with the same sickness, I was in shock, but I was sure she would live. Her older sister had lived and was out of the red, so she would, too. I didn’t cry, but I brought her home made healthy sweets, I tried not to bother her too much because I knew she was being contacted left and right and it was overwhelming her. But it was her own damn fault that she was so loved and everyone wanted to express their concern for her and send her their good wishes and their prayers. When she needed me, I was there. I visited her when she asked and as often as I could. Sometimes she seemed like nothing had changed, but there were days where she felt sick, or she was in a pain that I could not relate to, and there was nothing I or anyone could do to help, we were completely powerless. She was scared, but didn’t want me to worry. That is just the way she was, always thinking about others’ well being. With the treatments she became weaker and more easily exhausted, but her spirit was always stronger.

As time went on I got scared too… it suddenly became a reality. Her test results kept fluctuating and there was no surety to be found within a light-year’s radius. A month after her 19th birthday, June 11th, I got a message at work that she had blood poisoning due to a bout of pneumonia, and they were saying she may not make the night. It was 11 in the morning. I rushed to get to the hospital as fast as possible, but it was an hour’s drive. 45 minutes after receiving the message she was gone. Just like that. My whole world froze and I fell apart, not able and not strong enough to hold myself together, and completely alone. I couldn’t breathe, the sobs were wracking my body, and there was no way it was possible. A person’s being, their life force, can’t just disappear like that without a trace. Saying it out loud made it real. Too real. She had had plans, she wanted to study medicine, or become an osteopath. She wanted to get married and have children. She wanted to travel the world.

I have never felt so empty. When I woke up the next morning, the feeling I had after realizing it was all true can only be described as utter despair, a gaping black hole. I will never be able to talk to her again, I can never see her roll her eyes or hear her laugh or kiss her. I felt so angry. It was so unjust, to have someone taken away from you so quickly and so suddenly. And I was so sure it would never get better. And it didn’t, for a long time. I cried myself to sleep for months. When something happened whether good or bad, my immediate reaction was to contact her, and then it would hit me all over again. I was so scared that my memories of her would disappear, I was and still am so sad that my children will never get to meet probably the greatest aunt in the world.

I just want to say, that the pain doesn’t go away. I don’t want it to go away. It is a reminder to me that I loved her while she was on this earth, and I still do. I will always have her in my heart and will always love her.


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