Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Her little brother had died of pneumonia. Six years old. The doctor said it was that virus everyone had been getting that Fall, that he would start getting better soon. But he didn’t, and by Winter the downward spiral had begun and no one could stop it. She sat by his side, all nine years of her, afraid to touch him for fear she might also die. When he breathed his last breath though, none of that mattered and she threw herself on him, sobbing uncontrollably. She wanted to die too; she wanted to be with him then because she knew he was afraid of the dark. Her parents pulled her off eventually but a piece of Meagan stayed there with him for the remainder of her natural life.