The Two Greatest Loves of My Life I’ll never forget the first time I saw my niece. After everything we had gone through before, it all felt so surreal. Never did I think that another little girl could possibly change my life so drastically. I was in the fourth grade when my second niece was born. I was giddy all day knowing that soon we would have a little baby around the house. A little baby I would spoil and care for so much. I didn’t know much back then, and my mom and sister didn’t want to ruin my happiness, so it wasn’t until a couple of months after that they decided to tell me that my niece wasn’t okay. Melissa was in and out of the hospital for months, and after a while the hum of the machine that kept her breathing became the only reassurance I had that she was really home with us. During her stay at home, I woke up every morning excited to spend time with her. I dreamed of the day when I no longer had to worry about her going back to the hospital. It wasn’t long until my sense of hope slowly began to fade. Two weeks into being home, my sister rushed her to the hospital with new symptoms she had never had before. I couldn’t grasp what was going on. Everything around me seemed to be going at hyper speed, and I couldn’t catch up. Why did she have to go again just because she had what seemed to me like a cold? She spent the rest of her life tied up to tons of tubes and machines. Nothing felt safe anymore and I struggled to help everyone deal with it, even if I had no clue what I was I was trying to help them with. I grew accustomed to spending most of time at the hospital visiting her and spending time with my sister who had to witness it all at such a young age.
When her condition reached a critical stage, there wasn’t much they could do. It was either keep on fighting with the help of machines or just let her stop suffering. My family couldn’t bear to see her this way. The life she was given was not a life a 6 month old baby should live. I remember going to the hospital one weekend. The nurses showed up with toys and little dolls we could draw on, and asked us to draw a face and clothes on the doll as if it was Melissa. They gave us journals, books, markers, colors, and all sorts of goodies. How could an 8 year old possibly think something heartbreaking was about to happen? Soon, a nurse came by to talk specifically to me and my younger sister. “These drawings are beautiful,” she pointed out as we continued to draw silently, too shy to speak to her. “Meli loves you guys very much, you know? Sadly she’s very sick and can’t fight anymore. She’s tired of suffering; do you know what that means?” I knew exactly what she meant, and the tears that burst out of my eyes spoke the unwanted words that everyone in the room was thinking. Nobody in the room expected me to understand. I was too young to know things for what they really were, but my innocence was all a façade. Ever since I was a child, I had noticed the trials that were put in my family’s way, and I always felt everything so deeply. I looked up to my mother though. She was so strong, with a tough exterior that no one seemed to be able to break. I wanted to be just like her and this remains true ‘til this day. I didn’t want everyone to see me as another vulnerable child that needed protection. How else was I supposed to be able to face the real world if that’s all anyone ever thought of me?
A week later, my aunt picked me up from school. I thought nothing of it. My younger sister and I spent the afternoon playing on trampoline with my cousin without so much of a thought about what was really going on. Finally my mom picked us up. As we walked up to the car I knew our little Melissa was gone. My mom hadn’t gotten out of the car to speak to my aunt like she usually did. She just sat there waiting for us, as silent tears slid down her face. I wanted to cry with her and have her hold me as we comforted each other but I knew that would only make things worse. Again, the walls were put up, and I pretended as if I didn’t see her try to inconspicuously dry her tears. I was there every minute of her funeral, and when they slid her coffin down I wanted to do nothing but cry. I couldn’t handle the sadness seeping out of the atmosphere. I couldn’t handle listening to my sister finally breaking her composure and sobbing. But I stood there watching, listening without shedding a single tear, trying to be the brave little girl everyone believed I was. After witnessing all that, I didn’t think I would have another niece, but three years later, along came the light at the end of the tunnel: Hayden. She was born healthy, and beautiful, on a cloudy May morning. My dream of having a baby running around the house finally came true. I’ve watched her grow into a wonderful toddler who at times annoys me so much, but I love every bit of her. She quickly made her way into our hearts and somewhat replaced the gaping hole that was left by our little angel. Still to this day, I wonder what life would’ve been if Meli had been born healthy. It still seems completely odd to have Hayden running around all over the place without any intense visits to the hospital. I know now, though, that there’s always hope. Since Meli passed away in April, I love to think of Hayden as the May flower that ended the April showers.
She became my muse. Every time I want to give up, I think of her. I think of how proud I am to have her in my life and how proud I want her to be of having me as an aunt. For the rest of my life she’ll be my happiness and Meli, the light that guides my way.