Dear mom,

I remember everything like it was yesterday. It was Mikey's birthday. Our family of 7, Jorge, your mom, and your sister, Damaris, crammed into your tight hospital room to celebrate. It was hard to see you lying weakly in that hospital bed. The jaundice had finally spread over your entire body, your lips purple from dehydration, and the fragileness of your body because of the drastic weightloss- It was hard enough to see you with that IV in you.


When it came time for me to cut the cake, I passed a piece to everyone except you. The doctor said that you weren't allowed to eat or drink anything but ice. As I began to close the cake box I specifically remember hearing you softly, telling me to just cut you a small piece. It was as if you were ok.. I gave you a bite sized piece. I didn't think that a piece so small would burn the inside of your mouth. As soon as you started begging for ice to ease the pain, I knew you were never getting out of there. It proved to me the extent at which the simple pleasures of life had escaped you. I tried as hard as I could to fight back tears, but every now and then I couldn't help it. Only one month before that I was sitting down next to you watching your favorite shows on t.v.


April 9, 2010 was the last day that I spoke to you. It was getting late and visiting hours were over. I didn't want to leave. I wished that I was old enough to stay with you overnight. I desperately wanted to spend some time alone with you just like we did the summer before. I got to know you so well then. Saying good bye was the hardest thing ever. I couldn't hug you or kiss you on the cheek because your white blood cells were so low and we couldn't risk you getting any sicker. You looked up at me, eyes tired and yellow as I said good-bye, and replied "I love you." I replied back only hoping that I'd be able to better our relationship if by miracle you were able to get out of there. Little did I know that those 3 words would be the last word that I'd ever hear you say. I think you knew that you didn't have much time left. To this day I thank God that we left at those words. So many people who have lost wish that they could have told their loved ones that.


Two days later, I received a phone call from Dad saying that they had to rush you to the ICU. I finally convinced him to let me see you again. I knew deep down in my heart that you definitely weren't ever getting out of there. Dad warned me that you didn't look the same anymore, but I was so determined to get into your room. I went with Dad straight afterschool. As soon as we got into the elevator leading to your floor, my legs began to shake with nervousness. I immediately prayed for God to give me strength and to keep me from crying because I knew if I showed any sign of weakness that he wouldn't take me back. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the machine that was helping you breathe. There were tubes all over your arms, running through your nose and mouth, and your body was so swollen that I could hardly believe it was you.
I went in and out of the room every day that week without a tear in my eye. I was determined to be there for every one of my family members. I left my tears for times when I was alone and no one could see- just like you always did.
April 16, 2010, after they told us that we would have a couple of years left with you, Dad finally brought Mikey and Gaby to see you. I was so happy that he finally brought them because I knew that there was no way that you would make it that much longer. It was really hard for them to see you they way you were. You had blood in your mouth, your eyes were slightly cracked open, yellow and glazed over from all the medication. Your body was even more swollen than it was the first day that I walked in. They walked in scared and unable to believe that two weeks could do that much to you. I held your arm before we left trying not to cry because they told me you might be able to feel our presence. I wanted you off the machines. You looked like you were in so much pain.
The very next morning, it had to be 5 a.m., I heard Dad's cell phone ring. I knew that it had to be the hospital calling. He ran over to Denise's room and knocked on the door. I walked over by the time she opened it- "We lost her." I knew when I heard that that everything was going to change. I was used to having you around all the time. You were there for me throughout my whole life and never expected to lose you at 16. I always imagined you being there for my graduation, for my future wedding, and to see my future kids grow up. But the reason that I'm writing this to you is not to focus so much on how much our family has been through since then, but to tell you how much of an impact your life had on all of us.


Summer 2010, I accepted God into my heart. I know that you always pushed the Catholic faith and it was really hard for me to start going to CCK, but I felt God's presence there like I never did before. It took me forever to realize that you'd be happy with whatever I decide as long as I follow God. I read the bible daily now, just like you always wished I would. I try as much as I can to follow whatever God tells me to do. You always told me that following what God wanted was important and that it didn't matter what everyone else thinks of you. I didn't fully understand or even want to understand what you were telling me until now. I'm a leader in the bible club at school now. I didn't think that I would be able to teach a group of girls that were born in a Christian household anything about faith. I only accepted God for 4 months at that point. I try to center my life around God as much as I can. He's helped us through so much this past year. I don't know what would've became of us if He hadn't. I hope that you're proud of me. I know that you're always watching me. Thank you for everything you've done for me, mom. I know that I didn't tell you that enough when you were around. I'll never forget you.


Love always,
Cindy