I am not often too sincere, but I have to be. I have been walking around in a daze since Emma’s death, I have been hit harder by it than I thought I possibly could. I have spent the last two days trying to wrap my head around it, and I just can’t. I do not understand death. I thought I understood it as an awful but necessary part of life, something that had to happen. But I just don’t. When I first read of Emma’s death, I cried a lot. Constantly. But then I wondered when it was going to be over, when I could talk to her again – never. I am still crying. I am in a daze and I just cannot understand why this happens, where the justice is in her death. I’ve heard people say she was lucky to live until twenty with Cystic Fibrosis. I disagree. Emma did not deserve to be sick at all. She deserved to be born with a healthy set of lungs and be offered the same chances as anybody else, to live to the same age that I or anybody else will. I knew she was sick but it was hard to reconcile the image of ill Emma with the Emma that I knew – full of life and heart and humour. To me, she was not sick. I didn’t think she would die because we just don’t, do we? Death doesn’t happen to our friends or our sisters because they are ours. They will be the exception because we want it to be so. I have had old family members die, but I always found it easier to deal with because that is how it is supposed to be. I have known other people at my school to die, and it was easier to deal with because they weren’t mine. I cried and I felt for their families, but it wasn’t such a punch in the gut. I thought that at least with a death would come an epiphany, a realisation – that I would understand life and how it was meant to be lived. But I just feel strangled, winded, empty. I do not understand a thing. Death is indiscriminate and it will happen regardless of a person’s talent, brightness or beauty. I cannot get my head around that. I do not, however, believe that the little things in life are insignificant. When people die, other people often comment on how small the small things really seem. But I don’t understand that. Sure, Emma was sick. She did brilliant things. But she also fussed about boys and clothes and made jokes and those are the things that make up a life – the little things. They made her who she was. I met her and I knew she was special, I wanted to be a part of that life. I spoke to her, I read her blog, I offered to visit her when she got sicker. I wanted to be a part of her journey but I did not think for a second that it would be cut so short. I cannot understand it. I cannot comprehend that she will not live anymore, that she is finished. I am happy that she is finally pain-free, but I wish she had never had any pain to begin with.
I am grateful that I met her, and I wish I had gotten to know her better. She truly was special and I wish her family all the best. xo
A week or so before she died, Emma appeared on our local news talking about CF. Please watch it and learn a little more – here -.