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Gone

Five years ago you left us, but it seemed like just yesterday you were gone. GONE. Who knew that a four letter word could hurt so much, that this four letter word could tear families apart and cause such pain?I do. Now.

You were always there for me. That time that I was upset because my beloved cat died, who was there for me? You were, like always. Saturdays were always my favorite day of the week; it was the day you reserved especially for us.

Whether it be swimming at 5 o'clock in the morning or raiding the candy store at midnight, you always had fun, new things planned for us to do. You were the best big brother.

I remember the day you first showed signs you were sick. It must have been another Saturday. You and I were playing softball (I wanted to make the team that spring) when suddenly you keeled over. I ran inside and got mom and dad, This was the last time I saw you before you were admitted to the hospital.

The sickness seemed to eat away your energy. All you ever wanted to do anymore was sleep. I remember the first time I went to see you at the hospital. Your skin was so pale, and your veins seemed as bright as ever.

"Hi Chrissy", you muttered giving me a slight trace of your old grin which I had come to love. You knew I couldn't stand being called Chrissy ('my name is Christina.' I would tell everyone. 'NOT Chrissy'). But you also knew you were the only one who could get away with calling me that.

I was scared. I had never seen you look so sick, never seen you so deflated. "What's wrong with you?" I demanded. I couldn't stand to see you this way. "Something called Leukemia," you explained. I had heard of that before. My friend's cousin had died of it.

"Are you gonna die, Gabe?" I asked, not really worried. It was impossible that you would die. You could never leave me. "Of course not. I promise. I would never do that to you," you said with confidence, but I caught the quick flicker of fear cross your eyes.

I saw the look of doubt cross your face. I knew something was wrong. The chemotherapy seemed to make you become even sicker. You weren't able to keep down any foods except for liquids, and your blonde hair fell out (this was okay, because your shaved head barely had any hair anyway ).

Suddenly, you seemed to be getting better. you were able to sit up in bed and listen as I recited you the poem I had written (Looking back now I realize how bad it really was. I was so proud of it though, and you pretended to love it. Or maybe you didn't pretend, I don't know).

You would read me stories, and eagerly eat the mint chocolate fudge (your favorite) that I 'daringly' smuggled in. It didn't seem to matter that you were sick and I was healthy. You still were the big brother I had looked up to, and you still reserved Saturdays for us.

All of a sudden, your sickness came back in full force. Now when I brought in fudge you pushed it away with an 'uggghhhh'. You still would read to me, but a lot of the times you would stop in the middle of the story, too tired to go on.

The day you died was a Saturday. I was the last person to see you alive. You were reading me one of my favorite stories for the zillionth time, and then stopped. Your breathing became rapid, and for the first time in months you seemed to be able to talk clearly again.

"I love you Chrissy" you said, your voice stronger than I had ever heard it. "I'm sorry I have to break my promise. Tell mom and dad I love them." With a last burst of energy you reached over and gave me a huge hug. Then you were gone.

"Mom! Dad!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. "Mom!" They ran in, and saw my sobbing on your limp chest. Mom collapsed on the ground, dad just stood there in shock. At your funeral over 400 people showed up. The entire Varsity Baseball team came and made a special production of retiring your jersey, number 13.

Dad spoke of all the things you never had the chance to do; go to collage, have a family of your own or learn to snowboard like you had planned. Others spoke of all the things you did have a chance to do, like the time you let your friend borrow your car for a week when his had broken down, or the time you gave the jacket off your back to a homeless man. You would have been proud.

Five years ago you made this promise to me; "I'm not going to die. I promise. I'd never do that to you". Before you died you apologized for breaking your promise. But you know what?

You didn't, because even though you are not here with me physically I know that you are watching over me. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. I love you Gabriel, I miss you.

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