Oh Ms Believer

6. Samantha

I wore my leg to the arena. Dad had tossed my crutches into his truck, just in case I wanted them. Mom and Dad both came to the arena and walked with me to the doors to the gym. We met Andrea and her parents on our way in. Andrea and I hugged and cried together a little.

"How're you doing?" She asked me.

"Terribly. I miss her so much," I said.

"Me too," she said, her breath hitching.

"Okay, girls," Dad said. "We'll see you back here around ten, okay?"

I nodded and turned to go into the gym. Then turned and threw my arms around Dad.

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom," I said looking up at them.

"Honey, of course!" Mom said. "We're here for you, all of you."

She looked  at Andrea, who looked down. We made our way into the gym, and I held the door for Andrea who wheeled herself in.

Inside a few of the other girls had already arrived.  Coach had gotten some chairs for those of us who weren't reliant on wheelchairs, and we were all sitting in a circle on the centre circle.

We went around hugging each other and crying. It would repeat a bunch of times as team members staggered in. We were all sort of sobbing messes.

"Okay, girls," Coach said when we were all assembled. "Tracey is the only one who couldn't make it because of a prior commitment, but I'll be in touch with her and her parents. She wanted to be here, too."

None of us spoke. Tracey and Karen went to the same school. They were friends. Tracey must be hurting something terrible. She'd known Karen the longest.

"So, how are we all doing with this morning's news?"

No one spoke. I mean, the answer was pretty obvious. We all just sat there, staring at our laps.

"Come on, girls. We're here to grieve together," Coach said. "I know the obvious answer. But I want to hear more about how you're all coping."

"I'm scared," one of our reserve point guards, Caroline, said.

"Why are you scared?" Coach asked.

"Karen had the same thing as me. How come she died? How come I'm still here? How come I don't get as sick as her when I get sick? Luck? Cruelty?"

"Even if you have the same diagnosis, you are two different people. You both handle things differently, physically."

"I know, but how is that fair?"

"It's not," I said. "None of this is."

"What do you mean, Sam?" Coach asked.

I sighed.

"All of us are at higher risk for problems and early deaths because of our injuries or illnesses. Why did Karen get a cold that turned into pneumonia and killed her, but Caroline doesn't?  Why was Andrea born with spina bifida? Why did I have to lose my leg?  Why did Karen have to die?"

I broke down again.  A bunch of the girls came over and wrapped their arms around me. We all cried together.

"I can't explain why we lost Karen," Coach said. "If I could, I'd be god. And believe me, you do not want me to have that much power."

We all laughed a little. I felt horrible laughing and stopped.

"Karen was an important member of this team. And this team has become a tight and close family. The fact that you're all grieving as hard as you are should be proof enough of that. You care. And that's important.

Karen's parents asked that you all come to the funeral in your jerseys. I'd like to suggest maybe we all put our jerseys, and Karen's, on her casket. We'll get new ones for next season. With Karen's number on the front right shoulder. Because even though she won't be playing with us, she's still a part of this team. Thoughts?"

"I like the idea of putting our jerseys on her casket," Andrea said. "Because a piece of this team died with Karen."

I nodded. It was true. Without Karen, there was a huge hole in our team. Her position could be filled. But Karen could never be replaced.

We talked more about Karen, about how we were all feeling, about how we could keep her memory alive on our team.

Just before 10, Coach told us about the funeral. It would be on Sunday at her parents church. I knew Mom and Dad would take me. We huddled for a minute and then Coach sent us home. Mom and Dad were waiting right outside the doors.

"How're you doing, kiddo?" Dad asked. I shrugged.

"The funeral is Sunday at 10 at St. Paul's," I said.

"We know. Obviously we're going. The team parents are going to put together a meal train to bring food over to the Carsons. Remind them that this family is still their family," Mom said.

I nodded. I was afraid to open my mouth. If I did I was either going to throw up or cry hysterically.

Dad helped me into the car and Mom climbed in in front. I rested my head on the window and sighed.

"You okay, sweets?" Dad asked.

"Not really," I grumbled.

"No, I guess not," he said. I watched the streets fly by. It wasn't fair. We should have been having a party this weekend to celebrate our win. We shouldn't be burying Karen. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

Dad pulled into the driveway and Mom got out of the car, opened my door and hugged me tight while I cried.

Dad came around and wrapped his arms around us. The three of us cried on each other for a good few minutes.

"You guys okay?" I heard Uncle Brendon's voice.

"We're okay," Dad sobbed out. "Just having a cry."

Uncle Brendon came over and wrapped us all in a hug, too.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he said. "I'm sorry you lost your friend."

I nodded while I sobbed.

We stayed like that for at least 10 minutes. Finally, I stopped crying. Mom helped me out of the car and put her arm around me as we walked into the house.