I step out onto the balcony of our apartment and take a seat in my usual chair. I hear the waves crashing down on the beach below. A soft breeze creates the perfect balance to the Florida heat. It's not too hot, but not too cold; just how we like it. I start to feel the pressure of tears building up behind my eyes. I tell myself to not think about her. Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone sitting in her seat. I turn to look, filled with hope that it was her and that everything that we went through these last few months had been nothing more than a bad dream. But when I turn, I only see my reflection in the glass window. The pressure gets worse. Before I know it my mind is flooded with pictures, memories, silent films that play over and over. There is nothing I can do to stop them. They pour into my mind and out through my eyes. It seems like trying to stop them is like trying to stop a gushing waterfall. I see her and I sitting out here reading, drinking tea and doing brain teasers because I had gotten too sunburned and I needed to stay inside one day; I see her in her big comfy chair at home where I would go and sit with her while we watched "Law and Order" on TV; I hear my mom's voice over the phone saying "Grandma's gone"; I see her in her casket at the wake, looking her best in her favorite pink suit with her favorite jewelry set; I see them lowering the casket into her grave. Then I see her the way she was the last time I saw her alive. We were going to see her right before I left for camp, and right after our baby cousin's funeral. She looked so sad, but I could tell she was trying to be strong for everyone else. This opened a whole new box of memories. Me getting in the car after my physics regents and my mom telling me "Jackie, Katie died this morning"; the baby's funeral; seeing my aunt go up and make a speech over her second lost child; the tiny casket sitting in the Church with a little doll on top. Then it jumped back a few weeks before when we were all having a family dinner, and we were so happy because Lizzie stopped calling Katie "baby" and started calling her "my sister, Katie".

Suddenly I feel as if I am drowning in my own emotions. The sadness, the guilt, the fear, the loneliness, the emptiness. I feel as if I am stuck in a rip tide in the oceans below. No matter how hard I try to fight the water I am still pulled away from shore. Eventually I just give up, and let myself drown. I feel like I can't breathe and a tightness in my chest swells to the point where I am grasping for breathe.

I ask myself the same questions that have haunted me for months with no hope of finding an answer. Why? Why did she have to die? How could someone so loving, so amazing, have her life taken away for no reason? Why did God curse those who didn't deserve it with things like cancer? Why didn't the doctors check the baby Katie for the lung problem that killed her? My aunt had lost a baby before to the same thing, so why didn't they check to make sure that she didn't have the same problem? What did we do to deserve this pain? What is God punishing us for? They say everything happens for a reason, but what is the reason that we lost two people in our lives that brought happiness and unity to our family?

Why couldn't I have stopped it?

I try to think of something else. Something positive. Force myself to see that they are in a better place now, and most importantly, they are together. Grandma is finally free of the pain of her cancer, and little Katie is there it keep her company. Although my mind tells me they are all right and happy, my heart still feels the sting of grief.