Who would think a child could influence a life so much? Who would think a child could change someone completely? In my sixteen years of life, I have met a child who had enlightened, unified, and changed a whole community in her transient eighteenth month life.
Every year on September 11, following the tragedy of 2001, our country unifies in a feeling of mourning and solemnity to respect those who passed away in the destruction of the Twin Towers. In September of 2003, this date acquired another meaning in my heart.
Saturday, September 6th 2003 began like a normal weekend. Ariana, my little sister, was at my grandparents’ house and I woke up around noon and proceeded to get ready for my dance classes. While I was getting on my tights, the phone rang in the other room and after a few rings, my mother answered it. I took my time getting ready because I knew she would be on the phone forever; however, just five minutes later, I heard her say “ Oh my God, I’ll be right there,’’ and with that she hung up the phone. By now, my curiosity had risen and I wandered into the kitchen to find my mother and father staring at each other in disbelief. When I asked what was wrong, they did not even hear me. I was worried at this point, and I picked up the phone to look at the caller ID.
“Why did Stephanie and Pete call?” I demanded my parents. “ What did they need? Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Finally my mother turned to me and explained that Alexia, my baby god sister, had fallen into a pool the night before at a party, had been in the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital ever since, had not regained consciousness, and was not doing well. Immediately I felt chills run down my spine. In that one moment, I thought back to the hundreds of newspaper articles I had read that dealt with such tragedies. I remembered feeling pity for the mourning families; yet, I remembered thinking:
“This could never happen to my family.”
My verbal shroud of safety that I believed had protected my family from harm was suddenly torn down by reality.
That week was the longest week of my life. I did not want to talk to anyone and that Monday I could not even attend school. The next day, classmates, teachers, and friends wanted to know where I was the day before but I was in such an awful mood I just ignored them. Each day, my parents would go to the hospital in St. Petersburg and they would ask me to come, but I could not bring myself to go. I was too afraid of what I would see. My parents understood and did not force me to go. Sometimes, I wish they had.
On Wednesday September 10th, my parents were at the hospital all day and my grandparents stayed with my sister and me. I waited up for my parents until around eleven o-clock but since they still had not returned I went to bed; however, around eleven thirty, I heard a key in the door, and I got out of bed. I went into the family room, and I found my mother and father talking to my grandmother. My mother looked up when she saw me and said:
“ I am so sorry honey, but Alexia has just passed away.”
The news was heartrending but I did not cry. Instead, I nodded and slowly went back to my room. I thought of my god sister, a little child who did not have the chance to experience life. I felt guilty for not visiting Alexia in the hospital yet I knew that soon, I would have to go to her funeral, my baby-godsister’s funeral. At that moment, I understood how fragile life is and I knew that although I was suffering now, millions of others were too, from similar tragedies could happen to anyone. My barrier against sickness and death was shattered and I felt small … vulnerable … mortal.
I looked at the clock and saw that it was exactly twelve in the morning, the morning of September 11th and finally I cried.