She called. She told me the worst news ever. She had fallen. My only sibling. Was Lucia okay? She was rushed to the hospital. The concrete was hard as a bullet to her face. She was bleeding so much. She was unconscious. I ran home, awful thoughts whirring like a storm in my head. I felt a sudden buzz in my pocket. My mom was crying.               

I heard in the background, “She isn’t gonna be healed anytime soon.” 

I panicked when I heard that. I lay on my bed thinking about the future, but I couldn’t really think of anything because I wouldn’t be able to live without her.

I fell asleep knowing my eyes would be swollen in the morning from the tears. It was morning and no one was home. The kitchen called to me as my stomach grumbled. I found a note on the table. It said;  Went to the hospital. Your sister is not feeling well. -Mom. I wanted to help but there was nothing I could do. I hoped my mother would call and tell me, “She’s fine.”

After two hours of waiting, I got the call. But it wasn’t from my mother, it was from my father. He informed me that my grandpa had passed away. What are the chances?! Two bad things in one day! I told my dad to FaceTime me so I could just see my grandpa one more time. Through the screen, I saw my grandpa laying in a coffin. He was in a better place after being in a coma for the past five years. I shared tears with my dad.

That evening got a call from my mom. She said that my sister had to get stitches and has a huge bump on her head, but she would be coming back home the next day. I felt as if the sky cleared of all storms. Then I told my mom about Grandpa Gaetano. She said that he was in heaven and living a better life up there than down here.
It was night, and my sister had still not arrived. I thought about the first time that she had a seizure, her face covered in blood and unable to wake up. But I knew what caused all of this sadness: it was the memories. Memories of her first seizure. Memories of her second seizure. Memories of my grandpa. Memories of my grandpa’s favorite words, “Thank you very much.” Memories of everything. Dark cruel memories that would not leave me alone and seemed to make everything worse.        

My phone woke me from a deep slumber. It was my mom. She said she wasn’t fine, at all. My sister wouldn’t be coming home for another two days. She was on anesthesia, having surgery; my mom was waiting outside the door, biting all of her nails off. After four hours on my phone looking up stories of successful anesthesia surgeries, my phone vibrated on my chest. It was my mom. She said that it will be another hour but then they will be home.  I rushed out of bed and waited at the door. I couldn’t wait until I heard my mom’s keys jingle in the lock. Then I heard it, my mom and my sister were at the front door to our apartment. I saw her for the first time in two days, and she had a huge bump over her left eye.     

“Are you okay?”        
Lucia told me that she was fine and it was just a slight fall. She was alright.

Once she came, I opened my couch as fast as I can so she could rest. My sister slowly sat on the couch and fell right asleep. My mom told me that it wasn’t that big of a deal. She said that the doctors were over-exaggerating. She just had to get stitches, and ice the bump on her eye. Lucia said that her eyes really hurt as if her eye just had fallen out. In my head, I knew it would be fine, but the playback of memories made it difficult to stay positive. Memories of her almost drowning. Memories of her almost breaking her arm on the monkey bars. Memories of her first and second seizures. Memories of me, her, and my grandpa telling hilarious jokes. It was the memories that made this hard for me.  And as I watched my sister sleep, the memories kept oozing through the cracks of the darkness.