Wednesday, August 22, Blake and I were hanging out. I noticed she was acting differently. Her eyes were dark, and her face was covered with melancholy. Her usually rays of sunshine were dim. She attempted to act like her normal self, but I could tell it was all fake. She showed me some pictures on her phone to make me laugh, and it felt as if she tried to distract me from noticing something was different about her. She helped me get a job at Applebees, where she worked. The following Monday was supposed to be my first day. Blake and I talked about how excited we were to work together and see each other more. 

Friday, August 24, 2018, it was a warm, summer-smelling day. I woke up and drove to the nursing home to visit my grandparents. Grandma wanted me to drop some money off at the church for her. I told her I would pick my mom up from home, and we would take the money to the church. We arrived at the church, and as my mom walked out of the church, we saw three cops fly by with their sirens blaring. For some reason the sirens sounded louder than usual. On our way home, I received a call from my brother Dominique. He started screaming, “Blake overdosed!“ My mom hung up the phone and started screaming and crying. My sister, sitting in the back seat, started to cry, too. I wasn't really sure what happened and didn't know how to feel or what to think. I tried to drive as fast as I could without getting into an accident. The anxiety made my body clench. 

We arrived to the brick red apartment surrounded by tall, leafy trees. I parked at Latty’s Grove park since it is right by the apartment. We ran to the yard where my brother Andrew, a few cops, and EMTs were standing. My mom looked at the EMT guy. The EMT guy looked down and started to shake his head. He then told us, “I'm sorry we couldn't save her. It was too late by the time we got here.” I darted to Andrew. He was in shock and looked like he was confused. I aggressively asked him, “What’s going on?” I felt really confused and hoped it was all just a nightmare. He told me, ”I got home from work, and I called her to tell her I was home. She never responded, and then I noticed the bathroom door was locked. I had to open the door with a butter knife. I found Blake had overdosed on heroin. I looked in the sink and saw the syringes. I picked her up and tried to bring her back. She hit her head on the bathroom sink as she fell, and that’s why I have blood all over me.” Andrew had on a pair of navy blue basketball shorts and a red shirt, and he was covered in dark red blood. The cop had him change his clothes, and then they talked for a while. As more family members arrived, it became more confusing as to why Blake would do this. Why would she do this? Why? When Blake's dad arrived there, he wanted to see her, but the cops wouldn’t allow him. 

He repeatedly yelled in anger, “I want to see my daughter!” 

The cop responded, “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t let you see her.” Blake’s dad stood in the same spot, leaning against the staircase railing, for the next three or so hours.

Later that night we had to tell the news to Blake’s seven-year-old daughter. We met up at Blake’s dad’s house. I arrived to their house where I met Blake’s mom was sitting on the porch, and I asked how she handled it. She told me, “She screamed in the loudest most piercing scream.” 

I went inside, and down to the basement.  I sat on the couch right next to Blake's daugher and I held her, for the next hour as we cried. She looked so hurt and brokenhearted. She looked up at me and asked, “I’m never gonna see my mommy again?” I didn’t know how to respond to her so I hugged her tighter, while my eyes became swollen and my chest tightened. All of us reminisced the positives memories about Blake and tried to at least smile a little. 

Soon we went home and attempted to get some rest, but it was hard to sleep. Andrew and I sat outside under the dark star-filled sky most of the night. We talked about how nothing made any sense and how we were really going to miss her. Losing Blake was like losing a ray of sunshine in our lives.