…
The ringing of the phone wakes us from our sleep. We fall out of bed and run through the hallway. Standing at the top of the stairs we listen to the phone conversation.
“Hello?” dad asks into the receiver. Pause.
“Yes this is Mr. Eagleheart,” he replies to the unknown person on the other line. Another pause, longer this time.
“Alright, thank you for calling… Yes. Bye,” he hangs up with a grim face. During the conversation Nyki and I had made our way downstairs.
“I’m sorry,” he said, now to us. “She didn’t make it.”
Mom cries out and falls to the floor sobbing and dad is by her side in a moment holding her. Nyki and I hold on to each other trying to comfort ourselves and each other. I can’t believe it, my one and only sister is dead. Fifteen is just too young to die.
…
I step out of the car and look around. The park is filled with people dressed in all black. As if this day isn’t filled with enough mourning, someone had the bright idea of making the dress code a very dreary color. I, myself, out of respect am in a black silk dress. I join the group of close friends and family, standing by an emotionless faced Nyki in a tuxedo and C.C. wearing black jeans and a navy blue turtle neck.
All I’ve been feeling lately is pain; happiness is just a hazy memory. I stare off into the distance remember all our silly fights, how we would stay up late talking, help each other with our homework, and if I ever was having a hard time my sister was always there. In the background I can hear the funeral processions beginning.
The pastor explains how wonderful of a person Karolynn was and how young she was. She’ll always be remembered … Now after about twenty minutes there’s time for everyone to walk around and share memories and talk with each other. Karolynn’s body is shut up in a dark maple coffin in the middle of everything, colored leaves falling on it.
It’s all so depressing the way they set up a funeral. All dull and dark colors, everyone quiet and solemn. I don’t think it really helps anyone. I walk over a big oak and look up at it. This tree was my sister’s favorite tree; she used to love to pretend it was magic. She would babble on and on about faerie rings and pixies when we were younger. I sigh and take out a pocket knife; carefully I carve something into the trunk of the great oak:
Karolynn’s Tree April 7, 1993 - fall of 2008