The Sky We Call Heaven

Days of rain had swelled the river, floods threatened to break loose.  The storm had continued on for the past week, leaving the town in terror of what would attack next.  While rich folks had been trapped in their houses, huddled up next to the radio, listening through the static, many others hide in the alley…like me. Cold, scared, and alone. We all sat, waiting for our worlds to end. We were done with the suffering, or I was at least.  I was tired of the tethered up clothing, the scraps of food for dinner, the cold, wet, stormy nights.  I wanted to be inside, next to a fire with my family.  I wanted to eat a dinner, a real one.  But most of all, I wanted to get away from this storm.

I live in New Orleans; storms are normal.  I'm used to living on the street, having it rain every night or so. I know how to avoid lightning and stay safe from tornadoes; it's second nature to me. However, the last week has been worse than I could have ever imagined.  It all started with a spring shower, the beginning of May, it seemed pretty normal to all of us. It was heavy rain, all of us huddled together on the streets, but still, pretty normal.  We waited the storm out, hoping it would last only a day.  There was at least three days of consecutive rain, with only breaks for short amounts of time. We all prayed to God that he would make this horrible storm stop, but we hadn't even faced our worse offender yet.

Four days into the storm, we had received word from a local shop that there was a tornado spotted, and was looked to touch down near us.  We all appreciated the kind word and thoughtfulness of telling us, but we still had no where to go. We were still stranded on the road, waiting to die.

As more talk went around about the tornado, we knew there was a less and less chance of surviving. Families slept together, not sure if they would make it another night. Little kids, still running down the street, laughing and screaming -- like nothing was wrong.  It broke my heart to imagine losing them, or them having to live without us.  Every rain drop that fell was just another second ticking away from our lives.

That night, while we slept, a tornado came crashing through our city, our alley...our home. I survived.  I don’t know how, or why, but I did. I was one of the few.  As the morning sun grew, people emerged from the rubble. Some heartbroken by the loss of loved ones, others reaching out for the hands of their family.  Standing water surrounded us, buildings fallen to the ground, crashing into the remains of our city.  At this point, I was questioning if it was better to be alive, or better to be watching this from the sky.  The sky we call Heaven.

Saving Grace Essay

In the novel Saving Grace, Grace's brother, Matt, dies in a car accident and  she completely changes.  Things she used to love, now seem foreign to her.  She can't remember the last time she saw one of her friends, or the last time she played lacrosse, or even laugh. Because of this, her personality changes when she goes back to school and is approached by a 'popular' girl.  She decides that since she's sad it's okay if she wants to rebel.  She starts to drink, fall behind in class, and steal things, all because she lost her brother.

Death isn't an easy thing to handle, especially when your brother dies.  Grace didn’t know how to cope with the pain, the only thing she knew how to do was rebel because of it.  She thought that she had an excuse to act out, since she was sad because of her brothers death.  Because her brother died, she thought that it was okay to act out. The effect of her brother dying was Grace rebelled because she was trying to get away from the problems that occurred to her. She wanted to escape the pain, and to do this she completely changed her personality.  Failing in school, sneaking out, and lying to her parents...Grace wasn't sure what to do anymore; she just knew that she had gotten away from the problems.

Her brother dying wasn't the only thing that caused problems.  After her personality change, problems arose from that. She lost her old friends, because she made new ones.  She started to drink, go to parties and illegally buy alcohol -- because this was the new Grace.  She lost her head in all this, all because her brother died.

Saving Grace isn't the only book that uses a cause and effect structure.  There are many books that use this as a way to express the lesson.  Thirteen Reasons Why explains this perfectly.  Every reason is an effect of the previous one, a never ending chain.  Everything in the book leads after the first action.  Both books have a great lesson, telling us that many things can occur after one small issue.

In life, things happen.  Problems arise, people change, and things we do have effects. Every single thing you do or say has an effect.  Some are bigger or more important, but still caused by the thing you did. One thing leads to the next, and before you know it, you've completely changed.

Love

"And love will hold us together make us a shelter to weather the storm, and I'll be my brothers' keeper so the whole world will know that we're not alone."
-Hold Us Together
Matthew Maher

Love. It will bring people together and pull others apart.  I will make some happy and others sad, leave some with a partner, and others lonely.  It will heal hearts, and break others. Love isn't assured, were not promised a soul mate. We have to look for them, and might never find them.  We have the risk of losing everything, just for one person.  But once you find them, they'll change your life forever.  Love is the only thing that can save us, it's the only thing that can make us feel cared about, feel special. Love can't fix everything, sometimes it breaks things more.   It builds us up and tears us down.  It won't fix our problems, but whenever you have love, everything feels okay.

Silence.

Author’s Note: I wrote this poem to describe the feeling of death, or when you lose a loved one.  Comments would be highly appreciated, since I do not normally write poetry.

Silence.

You are not alone

Subtle footsteps stalk behind

Silence.

You are not alone

Watching you from a distance

Silence.

You are not alone

Though I have chose to hide

Silence.

You are not alone

Long nights you spend waiting for my return

Silence.

You are not alone

Yet you cry into the early morning

Silence.

You are not alone

I will always be by your side

Silence.

Alone All Along

Rushing down the hallways of a hospital, Julie was being wheeled to a room. She was about to give birth. The baby she had been carrying for nine months was about to be here. There was no more waiting, no more pretending that this wasn’t happening, he was being born.

This was not a planned pregnancy.  Julie and her boyfriend of three years had unexpectedly become pregnant.  Then Mike left her. He said he would pay child support, but wanted nothing to do with the baby’s life.  Julie had no family.  No one that was there for her, no shoulder to cry on…nothing. All she had was her son.

Born at 11:11 on June 19^th, Jackson was rushed into the ICU because his heart didn’t work properly. It was decided he was going to need heart surgery, at less than a week old, just to figure out what was wrong.  There was a low chance of survival, low chance of making it, a low chance of bringing happiness to the world. But there was hope.

11:11. Many believe this is a lucky time. A time where you can make a wish, take a chance, make a change. Julie thought this was fate. Her baby was born at a time that was meant for hope.  Jackson was full of hope. 

The first two days of Jackson’s life were hard.  Nonstop crying, no rest for either Jackson or Julie. Jackson, barely able to breathe on his own and Julie filled with fear.  Watching her baby struggle, watching him cry….watching him try to survive.  Nothing was easy for her; it hadn’t been for a while.

On the fourth day of Jackson’s life he had an emergency open heart surgery.  There was no time to waste, Jackson was dying and he needed help. Surgery at such a young age was risky, but was the only option at the time.  He had a problem, and this was a solution.

At two months old, Jackson was released from the hospital.  He was normal.  The surgery had worked.  There was no pain in these little boys’ eyes, no sound of terror in his cries. He was better. Julie had a real smile back on her face, not the one she faked every time she saw her son.  Pretending that everything was okay, pretending that none of this was going on…pretending.  But now she was back in reality.  Her son, was just like any other two month old; a pain.  He stayed awake late in the night, and didn’t want to eat when he was supposed to, but everything was normal.

July 17^th

Two days and Jackson would be at a year.  He was a miracle baby, the doctors said he didn’t have much chance of living, but he did. Julie was driving, Jackson in the back seat, going to the airport.  They were flying in to visit her sister, who had planned a elaborate party to celebrate little Jackson’s one year.

It was particularly stormy that day, on and off showers, leaving rainbows high in the sky.  Not a bad day to be driving along, looking at the view.  Jackson was giggling along to the music, smiling like happiest person in the world. Julie driving down a busy highway, concentrating on the road.  But all it takes is one moment, one second, one cry to change everything.  

Jackson, who was happily playing with his Fischer Price fish aquarium just a second before, had burst out in to a terrible screech, a screech because he dropped his toy. Memories came rushing back to Julie; memories of the days 10 months ago in the hospital. This was the same cry, the same kid, and possibly the same situation.  Without thinking, Julie turned back to see what was wrong.  She lost control of the wheel.  The car jolted to a stop, but the driver behind them didn’t notice. There was a thrust of power, lots of loud noises, lots of heat, lots of terror. There was a second where everything went wrong.

Jackson died.  The back of his head was attacked by the hood of the car, damaging the brain instantly, killing him within minutes. Julie, still alive, lay beside her now desisted son, crying.  She was the reason he died.  If she wouldn’t have turned around, they would be boarding a plane right now, but instead, she’s alone.  She has no family; she has no one to care for her, no one to care about.  She has no reason to live.

Presents

Author's Note: The purpose of this piece is to figure out what really happens when you open up presents. The symbolism behind it is so much more, i hope you realized what I was trying to accomplish. 

Running down the stairs, jumping up and down.  Looking at the presents under the Christmas tree, waiting until you can rip them open. Wrapped in a box is a toy, book, gift card- a present.  One that you received from someone....someone who loves you.  Not just anyone will take the time to buy something for you. Wrapped in the box may be something you can play with, but emotionally- it is a different story. A present is a present, until you look further into it.  There is an emotional balance to this, too.  Love.  Presents are love, the amount someone cares about you.  It's their gift to show their love to you.  

My Last Breath

“Elli, are you awake yet?” I can hear my mother calling up the stairs. I am too lazy and tired to respond, so I just lay still in my bed. I don’t feel right, I feel sick.  But not sick with a cold, just pain. My limbs rage with fury every time I move an inch.

“Sweetie, wake up,” my mother said calmly, “if you don’t get up soon you won’t sleep tonight.” My mom rubs my back, but she quickly notices something she wishes she wouldn’t have. I have a train of bruises leading down my arms. Bruises that weren’t there last night.

I can hear my mom rush down the stairs, pick up the phone, and dial seven numbers.  Seven little clicks that will change my life. I can’t pick up on much of their conversation, but I have decided she called the doctors. All these medical terms arise in the conversation, leaving me clueless.
            I decide to get out of bed and walk down stairs. My body feels heavy, and takes strength to walk every step.

“Look who decided to wake up?” my mom said, with a smile on her face.

“Me,” I replied, with no joy.

“Good,” she said.

“Who was on the phone?” I asked, like a right minded child would.

“Well, umm…Elli? We’re going to take you into the doctor, just because I know you don’t feel good, and we want to figure out what those bruises mean,”

“Alright, I’ll go get dressed,” I said gloomily.

“No need for that, you can go in your pajamas, hopefully we won’t be gone for long,” she smiled on the way to our car.

            Have you ever noticed the smell of hospitals? How they always seem so clean and happy, yet they have the most pain and heartbreak? If you haven’t noticed, lucky you. I sat in the waiting room, counting the squares on the floor.  My mother seemed to be taking forever to explain what was wrong with me. I felt better, maybe it was just being in the hospital, but something had changed.

            About an hour had passed of sitting in the waiting room; the cold, stale air had become normal, and we had made ourselves comfortable.

            “Elli?” I hear my name called from across the room. My mother and I get up and walk our way to the nurse.  My legs still aching with pain with every step I take.

            “Hi, Elli! My name is Nurse Megan,” she said while showing us to the room, “so, what’s wrong exactly?”  

            “I’m sick.  I have bruises, and it hurts to walk.  I feel weak,” I told her, batting my eyes innocently.

            “Yes, and she has been vomiting more frequently,” my mother added.

            “Alright, well we’ll take some measurements, and then I’ll consult with a doctor and go from there,” she said, telling us everything she knew. There was a long stare between my mom and the doctor.  A stare that said “I know we’re both thinking the same thing, but no one wants to say what it is.” The only problem being that I don’t know what they’re thinking. I am six years old, the only thing I’ve ever been sick with is a cold, and it doesn’t feel like this.

            “Elli, you wanna hop up on this scale so I can take your weight and height?” Megan said, gesturing toward the scare. I get on the scale, hoping for good news.

            “ 50 pounds right on the dot,” she said with a smile, “and your height is 46 inches,” she said, typing things into her computer.

            After what seemed like forever, a doctor ordered a blood test.  They said that there might be resemblance of what is causing me to feel this way in my blood.  An answer.  But I have picked up on the subtle hints that this might not be the best answer, if there is one found in the blood test.  There could be problems with my blood, and blood is what keeps me going.

            They told us, after the blood test, that we should go home because the results weren’t ready, and they would call us as soon as they knew what was going on. There’s always that awkward moment when you get home, after a tragic incident, and things aren’t normal.  No one talks, no one eats, and everyone just minds their own business.  We didn’t know what was going on, but I could tell that my mom had an idea. 

             The next morning we got a phone call.  Not one from my grandma just calling to check up on us, not one from a telemarketer, trying to get us to donate money; one from the doctor. I can’t hear the conversation, except for what my mom is saying.

            “…low count of white blood cells?” She said, with a very concerned tone. There is a pause, as the doctor is talking.

            “…okay, we’ll bring her in as soon as we can,” my mom said, “thank you very much,”

            It is about a forty minute drive to the hospital, and forty minutes is a long time to sit in the car in silence.  There is no talking, no nothing.

            “Sweetie,” my mom pauses, “you’re going to be staying in the hospital for a while,”

            “Why?”

            “You know last year, when Grandpa was in the hospital,”

            “With cancer,” I quickly interrupted her.

            “..Yes…well, you are believed to have ALL, or acute lymphocytic leukemia, which is a type of cancer,” she said, with tears filling her eyes and cracks in her speech.

            “I’m sorry mommy,” I said, starting to cry.

            “You did nothing wrong, and don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise. This is just a sickness, and God will help heal you in no time,” she said, bawling with every word she spoke.

            After we wiped away the tears, and got seated in the waiting room, it only took about an hour to get our room.  I felt bad when others had been there before me and were still waiting and I already got my room. The walls were white, not like the blue and green striped ones in my room. The bed was not covered with a pretty quilt, like the one in my room, and there were nurses, machines, and medicines everywhere, definitely not like in my room.

            The first step was to do some blood work, and then they’d go from there. They said they would be looking for a match, to see if we could get anyone to do a bone marrow aspiration. I needed that, because chemotherapy might not work for me. What six year old knows the word chemotherapy? Not a lot of them. But from now on, I do.

            “Elli,” Nurse Megan paused, “I hope that you understand you did nothing wrong,” she said, sitting on the end of the hospital bed, “In fact, I love that you aren’t too upset. You will get better, because I won’t stop until you are better,”

            “Thank you, but do you know how long I will be in the hospital? Because I really want to be out for Christmas, so I can go sit on Santa’s lap!” I said, with my heart racing, hoping they would tell me that I would be released from the hospital by then.

            “We’ll try to get you to visit Santa,” my mom intruded in or conversation.

            “Thanks,” I said, with a great big smile on my face.

“Okay, well we all think that you should get some sleep, you have a big day in front of you,” Megan said to me, and my mother. They turned off the lights, and closed the door.  My mom told me she would be right back in the room, after she knew our plan for the next day.

She slowly creaked open the door, trying not to wake me, even though she had.  My mom asked me how I felt, trying to be nice.  It was 7:00 am.  The sun was glaring in my eyes. As I opened them, I expected to see all the toys, not a white board with my name written on it.  Megan knocked on the door, smiling big and bright.

“Ready for a long day, sweetie?” she said.

“I guess,” I responded, with virtually no expression on my face. Filing through the door came two other nurses. There were three ways you could get the chemotherapy: orally, by injection, or through an IV.  My mom decided that it would be best if I had it through a shot, since the others seemed too scary.

About two hours after that I had been starting the side effects. I had been constantly throwing up, feeling worse after every time. Most cancer patients leave, but not me. I was going to stay at the hospital since I had a fast traveling cancer.  In the chance of an event they wanted to be able to give me medicine or do procedures right away.  They told my family that the fate my life could be determined in one second, and that it was safer to stay in the hospital.

Two weeks had passed when I lost my first chunk of hair; a long blond streak from the side of my head.  I can’t even begin to describe what that feels like.  My mom used to braid my hair, or put it up in a bun, and now she collects it as it falls slowly to the ground.  After a month of treatment, I was completely hairless.

            By mid November, I started to get visitors.  Family I hadn’t seen since the day of my birth came to visit me when I was in the hospital.  They brought books and stuffed animals to keep me company. Coloring books and crayons were my only friends. I received cards weekly from my classmates, all signed with some type of “get better” note along side. The room where I stayed quickly became more like home, more comfortable, more permanent.  I felt as if I would never leave, that I would be stuck here forever.

            “Hey mom? Dad?” I glanced over one day; talking to my parents, busy reading. They looked at each other, obviously trying to figure out which one should respond.

            “Yes?” my dad answered.

            “The first day I was shipped over here, mom said I could see Santa Claus.  When is that going to happen?” I said, sternly.

            “I know what I said,” my mom interrupted, “but you haven’t gotten better,” she said, with an apoplectic look on her face. I sighed. I was saddened.  Every year I went and visited Santa, sat on his lap, and gave him my wish list.  How would he know what I wanted this year? I started to cry. Tears rolling down my face, falling to the bed. My parents exchanged some looks and finally spoke up.

            “Elli, we’ll talk to Megan today and see if there is any way we can get you to go see Santa,” he said, watching the smile on my face appear.

            “Yay!” I screamed, motioning for my parents to come give me a hug.

            Excitement filled me like air in a balloon as I watched my parents converse in the hallway with Megan.  I couldn’t hear them, but by the looks on their faces, it looked hopeful that I would be visiting Santa.  There was only five days left until Christmas, and the only thing I wanted was to leave this place.  Whether it were to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap, or to the store to buy some medicine, I just wanted to leave this bed.

            I was wrong, the look I thought to be happy, ended up the opposite. There was no chance I was leaving. Recent blood tests showed that the ALL had traveled, and now had taken over my body.  There was no turning back; I had a very low chance of surviving.

            We spent the holidays in the hospital.  Family from all over brought a mini tree, and thousands of presents.  We sat in that small room as a family, and almost forgot about everything that was happening.  We smiled, and laughed, and had a good time, but as soon as they left it was back to a schedule.  I had no freedom in hospital. Throughout the months I’ve been the hospital, I’ve gotten worse.  Those bruises on my arm are everywhere now, they cover me.  Anytime I get hit, there’s a bruise that comes up. I still feel heavy inside, it hurts to get up, but I haven’t given up faith.  I know I’ll get better, I’ll always have hope.

             I turned seven just eight days after Christmas.  It was a happy day in the hospital; I was excited to see my friends and family again.  They were coming after lunch, and since I was tired I wanted to take a nap. I wasn’t feeling good, very tired, and I wanted to be my best for everyone.  My mom and dad said they would go to the cafeteria so I could sleep in peace.

            “See you in a couple hours, I love you,” my mom said, blowing me a kiss.

            “Sleep tight, baby,” my dad said, walking out, closing the door behind him. I never woke up.  I died there, in my sleep.  My heart just stopped working, the cancer took over.

            I never thought my disease would kill me. I never thought I would die on my birthday, especially at that age. I never thought that would be the last time I ever saw my parents, I ever heard their voices; I ever heard anything.  I never thought that there in room 234 of the hospital that would be the last breath I ever took.