Andrea

A condensed version of some things I wrote. 

I was in 5^th grade when Kyle was a freshman at BYU and started dating Andrea Hastings. That probably puts me at about 11 years old when I met her. As a 23 year old, that means I have known her for more than half my life. How I hoped that was how it would be back then. How we all hoped everything would work out for she and Kyle. How I wanted her for a sister from the moment I met her. Because all who met her wanted her to somehow be in their lives long term. She was just like that. Scatter Sunshine, might be how she described it. And once she left a little of her light on you, you’d understand.

Maybe you were never a little girl, or if you were, you just don’t remember, but all little girls think and dream about what they will be like when they’re older. When you meet older girls, you automatically pick out the ones you hope to be like, look like, act like, sound like, etc. That is just the way it is. As a little girl on the eve of no longer being a little girl, I met Andrea and immediately wanted to be like her. I wanted to have a bright white smile that showed my entire top row of teeth and a little bit of my gums, like her. I wanted long, shiny hair, like her. I wanted a beautiful, clear whistle, like her. I wanted a full, contagious laugh, like her. I wanted the ability of easy conversation, like her. And my sweet brother, who I so looked up to, approved of and loved her, which to me was further proof that she truly was something incredible. And she was.

But I hate saying “was,” because even though it is 12 years later now, and I have known her more than half my life, and even though I did learn to whistle and I have accepted I won’t ever have her smile or hair or laugh or people skills, I can’t seem to fully grasp that she is not here.  

...

In a hotel room on our way to Las Vegas from St. Maarten, we try to distract ourselves with a movie. We end up the floor: me, crying hard, Matt holding me, rocking me, wiping tears on a path down my cheeks that's been well-traveled the past 2 days. He’s held me like this before: when I thought I ran poorly at a big race. He found me crying into the mud between two team tents and knelt down with me, grasping me as I shook. How silly I cried that hard over a race. How could I do this without Matt? How will Kyle do everything without her? 

...

 

Kyle explained their last week together. How so many things worked out. Going to her favorite places, seeing all her siblings, Kyle still being there when he was supposed to have flown back home for work while she and the girls stayed with family. We all let the tears climb down our faces and onto her bed, mine mixed with some of my selfish anger. I haven’t seen her for almost a year. We have been so far away.

Then the horror, the hospital, the irreversible truth. Her sisters have braided her hair and put a bow in it. Kyle has painted her toes, her perfect toes that she loved. He’s asked for extra blankets for his sunshine girl. She loved to be warm. He lets me hold her hand. It is warm, but not hers anymore. He lets me lean close to her face, kiss her forehead, and I tell her a few things I know I told her in real life too. I just sent her a mother’s day card a few months before. I’m so grateful I sent that card. 

As I whispered and cried, and then didn’t really whisper anymore, I knew I was talking to her, but not really to her. She heard, but not through the ears I was directing my voice towards.

Doctors are coming in the room now, it's time to leave. In the hall, I can’t stand anymore. I find a corner and sink down, I let the shaking sobs come out, again. Matt is there, again. How dare I cry like this in front of my brother, while I have a spouse to comfort me? I cry harder at the thought.