I’ve never been more sad than the day that my cousin Taron died. She had battled cancer for five years, if not more, when she took her last breath. She was in a coma for the last week of her life. She was a fighter; no matter how sick the chemotherapy made her, no matter how bad it hurt, she never complained. She was never mean to anyone, she never made a rude remark against someone, and everyone loved her. She lived for the Lord, and did everything she could for him. I believe in my heart, when she took her last breath, she went straight up the stairway to heaven.
I will never forget the morning she went to the doctor and found out she had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I had to go to school with my aunt, and I was in the fifth grade. Taron walked into my aunt Sherry’s room when she was getting ready and my aunt noticed that her Lymph nodes were swelled, about the size of a baseball. She was freaking out, but my cousin wasn’t really scared until my aunt got scared. I think my aunt didn’t say anything else about it until I got to school because she didn’t want to scare me or my cousin any worse, but when I got picked up early that day at school, I kind of had a feeling something was wrong. It wasn’t long after that that we learned she had been diagnosed with cancer.
The day she passed away, my mom told me if she came and picked me up early that something would’ve happened. I was worrying, but after a while, I kind of eased up a little bit. At lunch, I was eating and I saw one of the office runners come into the lunch room, and my heart dropped. I knew that I was checking out, and when I got the note it was all I could do not to burst out into tears. Taron was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. I never even got to say goodbye, and that’s the part that kills me.
Whenever I think about her, all I can see is her laying in that casket in a pink suit, with her hair fixed, but bruises on her arms and face from where she had been in the...