Sincerely, Scarlett

04: Dear Anastasia

Dear Anastasia,

            I remember watching you fall asleep. I remember being sixteen and you, thirteen. I remember how you’d whine when your mother called me, telling her that you were in no need of a babysitter. But, yet, when I came, you were as happy as could be. I remember you rushing about the backyard until you could no longer carry your body weight. I remember watching you smile your gorgeous little smile at me. I remember watching you fall asleep. Did I already write that? I’m sorry. I just remember the amount of times your mother woke me from my slumber after waking you, with tears in her eyes. Tears of joy but tears of sorrow.

            I didn’t understand why until I turned sixteen, actually. She then sat me down and told me what you’d known for years earlier. I remember noticing the differences of the family photos and of who you were in front of me. You had a gorgeous tan before you were diagnosed. When I saw you in the yard, your skin so pale and your freckles so prominent. But you’d still smile. And you’d still jump. You’d still run and you’d fight every urge you had to sit down and just die. That’s why she always cried when you woke up, Ana.

            She thought you had died. She thought I had let you fall asleep and die. And now, the image of you, asleep, is burned into my mind. You were even paler than when you ran in the yard. I had stopped babysitting after a while because your mother was officially your primary caretaker when I turned seventeen. I visited you, though. I’m not sure if you remember because it was when you were at your lowest. You were officially dying, then, Ana.

            You were asleep most of the time, your eyelids shut. And, besides, when they were open, they drooped down so heavily that it seemed as though you were sleeping again. It was so scary. I only saw you once when you were awake. You stared at me, confusion evident on your features, and then you coughed up blood. I was so sad and scared and a mess of emotions. I just ran straight out of the room and always called to ask if you were awake before I came. I think that made your mother sad.

            To be honest, it made me sad. I watched you cough blood into tissues sometimes when I babysat you but I always thought ‘what of it?’ But it didn’t matter when you were sick. I’d just watch you sleep. I’d just watch your chest rise and fall. Then one day, your mother went out so I had to take care of you alone. Your mother had already seen me cuddle into bed with you. But that was before your last days.

            But, anyway, that day, I climbed into your bed beside you. You were so hot and the blankets seemed to radiate all of the heat. I placed my hand on your chest and nestled my head in the crook of your neck. I didn’t care if you coughed blood all over me in that moment. I didn’t care about anything but how much I loved you. Still do, actually.

            But that day, it was the hardest day for me. When your mother came back, she was forced to call the hospital because you had stopped breathing. I was crying so much. It was insane, I couldn’t stop. They came and drove you to the hospital. They resuscitated you but they kept you in the hospital. And for that reason, I hate the hospital and it’s sterile white walls and it’s horrible – it’s horrible everything. After that day, I never got to see you.

            Not until the worst day of your life. Your death. The day you shut your eyes and slept forever. The day that I finally got to see you. The day your parents cried so much and so hard. You were there only child, Anastasia Ryerson. And they will always love you. Even if, now, they don’t even love each other. I’m going to stun you with the truth, Ana. 28% (and previously 90%) of married couples split up after a child’s death. Whether it is because of a spouse’s death or a divorce. They got a divorce, Ana. Just be glad that neither of them died. Though, maybe, you should be. You’d be with them, then, after all.