Life Goes On

By Do-Hyoung Park
Grade 4
IDDS

Bewildered, I slumped down on my living room couch. My little sister, a little girl of 6, had just passed away of a rare heart condition which had caused her to have a heart attack. I couldn' believe it, and neither could my mom, who was sitting opposite from me on the ground, with her eyes closed and her lips fixed in a frown. Finally, unable to restrain myself, I fell into my mother's arms, sobbing my eyes out, deeply saddened that she had to be gone so early on in her life, taking so many memories with her. After just 6 years here on this Earth, she had been taken away in the blink of an eye.

Around 5 hours earlier, Jadia and I were playing joyfully on the swing set at nearby Lincoln Park and having a good time when suddenly her face turned as pale as egg whites and her body turned as rigid as a board. Then, she collapsed, still as rigid as a board. Horrified, I screamed, "Help! Help!"

"Something's wrong with Jadia!" Alarmed, one of our very friendly neighbors, Ernesto Roberts, came running with a serious look on his face because I was soft-spoken and hardly ever screamed. He asked, "What's the matter?" 

I tearfully replied, "Jadia and I were playing on the swing set when she turned all rigid and pale. Then she collapsed. I called for help straight away, and luckily, you got here." He still looked sad, but a quiver of shock ran over his face. 

Then, he quickly said, "call 911." And, "wait here."

After what seemed like forever, red and blue lights were flashing everywhere, and a siren blared in my ears. The paramedic that came to get Jadia asked, "Is she your sister?" I nodded though my sobs and gave him my phone number. After the ambulance left, I turned around and headed home.

The phone rang. My mother, still sitting opposite from me, hadn't moved, opened her eyes, and I don't think she breathed, so I just got up, and before grabbing the phone, trembled from head to toe, knowing that this phone call could completely change my life forever.

I put the phone to my ear, and a gruff voice asked, "Is this Jadia Smith's family?" I answered, Yes. He sounded grave as he said, "Well, you should know that your little sister died after 3 emergency heart surgeries. I'm sorry. But kid, let me tell you something. Don't act like this is the end of the world, kid, because it isn't. Life goes on, kid."

Life goes on.He hung up. The last thing I remember was falling to the floor in a cold faint.

When I regained consciousness, I immediately started to sob. Apparently, she had read my actions, because she was still frozen in place and now as white as chalk. No one spoke for 10 minutes, then my mother finally broke the silence by saying, "It's about time that I told you the truth behind Jadia's life. She was diagnosed with lukiemia when she was 2. Cancer cells were building up in her bloodstream. Unfortunately, we found the tumor too late. Her death was expected. I just wanted her to have the best life she could, until¡¦¡± She broke down entirely, sobbing her heart out. Through the tears, she was saying, ¡°I¡¦ just don't know¡¦ what¡¦ I'll do¡¦ without¡¦ her¡¦¡±

3 days after that fateful day, the funeral services began. With tears in my eyes, I walked into the dark cemetery. We walked toward Jadia's grave, where her coffin was lying wide open with her lying inside. When we finally got there, I saw her inside the coffin, with the same comfortable and joyful smile on her face, the same smile that she had worn at Lincoln Park. It was all really eerie. I gripped my mother's hand tighter until we were past. We stayed for the funeral services, then silently got in our car, and went home.

At home, everything seemed quiet, creepy, and deathly without Jadia crying or her shrieks of joy to occupy the silent air. In my horribly confused mind, one thought stood out above all the others. "This isn't my home." I silently went upstairs, and tossing and turning, went to sleep.

Even here, 35 years later, at my new house in San Diego, where I live with my wife and 2 kids, it all seems like all a big dream, a horrible nightmare.

Sometimes I can still make out noises from Jadia in my deep sanctuary of sleep. But now, one thing has always been planted in my mind. The paramedics words on that fateful day, "Life goes on, kid. Life goes on."