Losing Tiffany

I was sitting in my third grade class thinking how lucky I had always been that nothing bad had ever happened to me. So lucky. I had asked once why I was called “fortune child” and what “fortune” meant. I guess I figured I was born fortunate and maybe nothing bad ever COULD happen.

That day I was called to the office, much to everyone’s confusion. “Ruby never does anything wrong!” someone said. When I got to the office, I was told we were going to my grandma’s house. I was instantly excited because I hadn’t seen my grandma or my sister who lived with her in so long.

Tiffany was born 10 years before me and embraced life, although mom had struggled for so long when Tiffany was little. She was active academically and in sports and was always surrounded with friends. When we moved from San Antonio, she stayed with my grandma there.

In the living room, my dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen as we stood near him.

“There’s been an accident. Tiffany is in the hospital.” He choked now. “Your grandma didn’t make it.” In my 9 year old brain, it took me a moment to register what he was saying.

I rushed to hug my dad. “NO, she was my FAVORITE!” I felt my heart tear from my chest.

I remember the drive to San Antonio as a vague blur of cars and scenery. I remember long drawn out days playing in Tiffany’s bedroom or listening to grandma’s records. I am told I slept a lot. I was too young to visit Tiffany in the hospital. When I heard mom and my sisters crying in Tiffany’s room, I only assumed they were sad that grandma was dead.

When I finally joined them in the room, I plopped on the floor by the closet as they cried and cried. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Tiffany DIED!” my mom cried out almost in a tone that made me feel stupid for asking.

I was in shock. All Summer as we lived there taking care of my great-grandma, I was in shock. I pretended grandma and Tiffany were still with me. I spoke to them constantly, drew pictures for them and visited them in dreams.

And for years, I grew more and more withdrawn. Everything I drew or wrote was dark. I was obsessed with death and learning to communicate with the dead. I read about religion, which I had not ever had in my life. I was always in search of a door to that world that took my grandma and my sister.

When Tiffany died, she truly took a piece of me with her.

Today I have healed a bit. It took a long time, but I am slowly coming back out of my shell and learning to love life again. Tiffany wouldn’t want me to miss out on my life.

 

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