Lost time is never found again

“Lost time is never found again” –Poor Richard

My little sister Ellie was six years younger than I was. It was an awkward age gap. When I was twelve and first exposed to the “adult” world, she was still naïve and didn’t understand the issues I was curiously learning about, like puberty and drugs. When I was sixteen, drowning in the stresses and work of high school, she was ten. It was that awkward age when a child begins to mature, but is still too young to be considered responsible and independent. She wanted everything I had, so she pleaded to get a Facebook, an iPod, and to be allowed to have friends over like I always did. It was clear she thought she was mature enough to be like me and have the same privileges, but she wasn’t. For that reason, she annoyed me, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. I figured when she was older, she would be more mature and we would be able to relate to each other better, making us close like most sisters are.
            Ellie would always ask me to play games with her, and I would always give her the same answer. She didn’t understand that I was a junior in high school, overloaded with tests, essays, and busy work. Ellie would come home from school and complain about the two math worksheets she had to do, and every time I would roll my eyes at her and tell her to be thankful she didn’t have more like me. This often resulted in a pointless argument of us debating who had a bigger load of homework, even though it was clear I did and she was just being stubborn. Looking back, I should have been the bigger person and let it go, but I always received satisfaction from winning meaningless battles against her.
            Then, one day changed our relationship forever. It was Tuesday, December 12; I still remember it like it was yesterday. I played varsity basketball for my high school, and I had practice until 5:00 every day. Halfway through practice, as we were finishing up our shooting drill, my coach called me over and told me that I had a phone call waiting. This was unusual, since we played a varsity sport and practices were never interrupted. Filling up with confusion and anxiety, I briskly walked over to the phone where the call was waiting.
            “Hello?”
            “Hi, it’s Mom.” Her voice was filled with strain, and I could tell that she had been crying.

“What’s wrong? You know I’m at practice.” I grumbled at the idea that I was missing practice and that my playing time would be affected in the game the next day.

“Your sister was… walking home… and she was hit by… a car while crossing… the street. Dad and I… are in the hospital... with her now, and… we want… you to drive over… to meet us. The doctors… aren’t sure how bad… the injuries are but… we will be kept updated.” This took her a couple minutes to say through broken sobs.

A feeling of panic arose within me, and fifty questions filled my mind at once. Hit by a car? Doesn’t that only happen in movies? I suddenly felt nauseous. My coach had already been informed of the situation and told me I was set to go. I quickly gathered all my belongings and sped to Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, where my parents greeted me in the emergency room. My mom’s face was red and puffy, and my dad had a look of concern on his face I had only seen once before, at my great-grandma’s funeral.

“How is she? Where is she?” Seeing this sight made me fill with adrenaline, and I wanted to know everything about the situation.

“She’s in one of the rooms being treated by the doctors now. She is unconscious and they are unsure when she will come out of it. She may be in a coma for a couple weeks, even a couple months. She also may have to lose her left forearm, it got hit pretty badly.” My father spoke in a monotone, dull voice, and I could tell he was trying to keep it together.         

Terror and worry filled me. I couldn’t come to terms with the situation. Just this morning, she was bugging me about borrowing my cute shirt that was five sizes too big for her, and now she was in the hospital with the possibility of dying.

I sat down in the closest waiting chair. I felt restless and my mind was racing 1,000 miles an hour. I thought of when my mom was pregnant with Ellie, and I was so excited to have a younger sibling that would look up to me. I remembered being the one running to tell my mom that Ellie took her first steps while we were playing dolls in my room. I brought Ellie home when she was learning to ride her bike with me and fell and scraped her knee. I thought of when our dog Daisy died, and Ellie would only sleep with me because she said I reminded her of all the good times we had with Daisy, and kept her from being too upset. I began to realize how much Ellie idolized me and saw me as a role model.

            Then I began to think about all the times I had pushed Ellie away from me. I regretted every time I had rejected her request to play a game with me because I thought it would be more fun to go out to a stupid party with my friends. I remembered every time I had gotten mad at her for small things like finishing the ice cream, or playing her music too loud. I had always taken her for granted, and thought I would have her with me for my entire life. Now, I realized that it was uncertain whether or not I would be able to ever talk to her again. I felt my eyes swell with tears and my stomach tie into a knot as I thought of all the time I had wasted away when I could have been spending it with Ellie.

            Seeing my eyes tear up, my mom offered to take me down to the cafeteria to get dinner. I refused, persisting that I wanted to see Ellie first. Though the doctors were hesitant to allow any visitors, I was able to convince them after a long, desperate conversation.

            I did not know what to expect when I walked into the room. As I opened the door, my heart raced at the speed of light. The hospital bed engulfed Ellie’s four-foot-long body, and she was hooked up with all different kinds of monitors. Her left arm was wrapped, and there were a few cuts and bruises on her face. From what I could see, it didn’t look too bad. However, I remembered all the internal brain injuries the doctor had mentioned she was suffering from and worried myself even more. What if she lost one of her senses, or developed a learning disability? Or even worse, what if the internal bleeding was so bad that she… No. I would not let my little sister die. She was so young, and still had so much time ahead of her.

            I sat down in the chair beside her bed. I regretted all the time that I had wasted, not playing with Ellie when she wanted to play a board game and arguing her when I could have been the bigger person and just have let her get her way. I wished more than anything that she would just wake up. Even though I knew that the time I had lost with her would never be regained, I vowed to myself that after this tragedy, I would be more conscious of the time that I spent with people. I learned that not everyone is here forever, and that I need to appreciate the time that I are given with them.

            “Ellie, please wake up. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you. I wish I could take back all the times I have ignored you or gotten mad at you. I promise if you wake up, we will spend more time together and have the relationship that two sisters should have. You can borrow all the clothes you want, and I promise I will play all your games with you. Just wake up, please.” I felt the tears swell up again as I was saying this, and decided it was time for dinner to calm me down.

            I went down to the cafeteria with my mom. We had some undercooked chicken with canned mashed potatoes, but it was sufficient. After waiting around for another hour, we finally headed home after being reassured that Ellie was going to make it through the night.

            Ellie did make it through the night. In fact, after days of nerve-wracking waiting, we were told that she would be lucky enough to make it through altogether. She was in a coma for almost a week, and had to lose her forearm due to the damage that the accident had caused. When she came home, she was weak and disoriented, and I found myself eager to help her and provide for her. I had learned my lesson; lost time is never found again, so it needs to be appreciated and used wisely because there is no way of predicting when it will run out.