The Girl Who Loved The Most

It feels like only a short amount of time passed since then. Looking back on it, the world was crazy. So much happened that lead up to the result we have today. I remember the first time I let someone go...

I was four years old, my older brother, Johnathan, suddenly collapsed while we were playing hide and seek. I tried to wake him up to no avail. I cried and screamed at him to be okay. I knew he was gone, even though I wasn’t supposed to understand what death was yet. His last words were under ragged breaths. I wouldn’t learn the significance of those words until much later.

Mother and father cried, as parents would. But not those of sadness. It was tears of joy. I think that was the moment when I realized what the word “cruel” meant.

His funeral was beautiful, a nice dark wood coffin, with gold lining. I was told the inside was purple velvet. Although at the time I could only think he’d prefer the color sky or navy blue.The flowers were my favorite, calla lilies. I learned to love them after Johnathan gave one to me after he found out I was sad. A lot of people arrived. His whole class came, I forget if they were as sadden as me. But I do remember Arthur. Arthur Zanes, my brother’s best friend. Our mother’s are best friends so they were raised as if they were twins.

He didn’t cry. He just stood there. Staring aimlessly at the beautiful coffin while people said their goodbyes. It was only after the funeral that I was able to speak to him alone. I was constantly being talked to and one phrase being repeated.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

In Johnathan’s room I went up to Arthur and hugged him, I told him the words I had once learned from the janitor from my school while he was making poems.

“We love him. So we must learn to let him go.” Arthur cried, enough to fill a lake maybe.

I knew that I must not the leave side of the one person who could understand my pain. For now at least.