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Description
          What are tears? This question has haunted me like a quiet and annoying friend. I have gotten to know it well in the last two weeks.
          It all started the summer before senior year. It was supposed to be the most fun and amazing summer of my life. It was all going well in the beginning of that summer. Now, I can't wake up without feeling the void she left in my heart.
          Let me clarify, this is a story about a girl and it is about love, but  in this tragedy, I don't fall in love with the girl. I do love her, and I always will, but I am not in love with her. This tragedy is about my sister, Allie.
           She woke up crying that morning. She got out of bed and walked slowly down the hall, her feet patting down the long hall way. Her cries are muddled and just little sighs. The tears were running down her cheeks. Her eyes were wet and glassy, her hair was a tangled mess, her cheeks rosy and redder than usual. She held her blanket against her face, her pink, butterfly blanket she has had since she was born. Her head was cocked to the side as she slid her toes across the hallway to my room in her pink pajamas.
           She walked into my room in that crisp, clear morning, and cried, "Cody, my neck hurts."
           Her voice, her sad cry was the first thing I heard that morning as she woke me up. Her soft voice carried a caring smile to my face, as if to say, "It will all be alright."
           "Its ok, sis." I tell her. I pick her up and take her to the couch and wrap up that four year old baby in my blanket to watch TV.
           "Would you like to watch Sponge Bob?" I asked her. Her sleepy head nodded painfully.  I could tell it was bad by the way she was acting. She had no energy, no spirit. So I turned on the TV and laid with her on the couch. I held her little body in my arms and watched TV with her. Her eyes were glazed and blank as she watched. Not even a smile.
            I stole a kiss on her forehead, and snaked a reading of her temperature. She was burning up, almost like a fire. She was so little, fragile, innocent. She seemed to have no reaction to it, she even started to laugh a little, and my fears eased.
            I watched TV with her for hours, from Sponge Bob to Penguins of Madagascar to I Carly. She laid there interested by the flashing lights, but non responsive to them either. Mom woke up and came out of her bedroom with a smile on her face, unaware of her daughter's illness.  As soon as she woke up to that fact as well, she erupted into a chaotic frenzy.
            "Has she eaten ," were the first words I remember being actually spoken.
            "No, she hasn't, but I made her some food and she didn't want it," I said, indicating the now cold Pop Tart on the coffee table. Mom seemed concerned, but satisfied with my response. She had me make Allie some toast with water for her to eat.
            When I came back into the room, Allie had just finished taking a dose of children's Motrin without complaint. We then proceeded to coax her into eating the toast. She managed to hold it in and my Mom seemed to take it as her getting better, however her frantic attitude still remained.
            Mom said that Allie couldn't stay on the couch anymore and sent her to watch movies in her room. I took Allie to her room and laid her down. She chose a movie and I stayed to watch August Rush with her. She truly smiled for the first time that morning when I told her I would watch it with her, she hates to be left alone.
            I wrapped her up and watched a movie about a boy that set out to beat all odds. He went searching for the impossible and found it. He persevered through difficult situations, even when he felt like giving up. He held onto hope, to love, to dreams, to wishes, and accomplished what he set out to do. I sit here wondering now, what happens to her dreams? To the work she did to reach what she has? What would she have become?
            I saw her laying there, watching the movie, and noticed her skin getting paler. I dismissed it at first as just the glow from the television, but it seemed to grow worse until she fell asleep. She slept through about thirty minutes until she awoke sweating. She immediately leaned over her pan and spilt the contents of her stomach. It was terrible to watch her small form bent over that silver pot. She laid back down to rest again, but couldn't fall asleep.
           We finished watching the movie, and I put on Hotel for Dogs for Allie to watch. I walked into the living room as my Father came home. Dad and Mom talked about her fears of what Allie might have and they both grew panicked. Dad took her out of bed and put her in the car. We all drove in relative silence to the hospital.
           Waiting was the worst part. The waiting room was too quiet and filled with despair. I flipped through a few magazines, which only fueled the nightmares playing in my head. It seemed as though years had passed in the twenty-five it actually took to examine her and discover why she was so ill.
           The Doc came in. Immediately our family stands up and swarms around him. My ears no longer work, all sound has become inaudible, just the deep drumming of my heart pounding in my ears. My eyes become blurry, yet it doesn't hinder my ability to walk to the Doc. Even in the wake of this new condition of mine, I am able to understand what is going on.
           Doc truly does heal, because my symptoms vanished on his words, "At her age, it is completely fatal." All of a sudden all the sound and sight I had lost in my short time had burst back to me. My world swirled in my head, making me dizzy. My Mom and Dad seemed to be pleading with Doc, but I no longer cared for the meaning of words.
           I suddenly realized that the small, quick breathes stifling a cry escaped from me. A small puddle collected at my feet, at the end of a salted river. The tears stung even my cheeks as they passed across my flesh. I turn back to look at Mom and Dad, she is crying full out, with hushed screams too far from my world to hear. Dad had tears running down his face, but it was fixed as he held his wife. Someone had to stay strong, it was too late for that too be me.
           "When you have collected yourself, I can take you to her," at least Doc still tried to care. Sympathy only goes so far.
           He led a more settled group down countless corridors in his labyrinth, until we reached a door toward the back.
           "This is hers," Doc again.
           We all had stopped crying, said a prayer, and put on a face that could win an Academy Award. Thank God for my acting classes and talents. As soon as I had walked through the door, I felt a small tug at my heart. Her pale, small, frail body was lying on one of the enormous hospital bed. She was out of place. There were tears streaming down her face. From fear or pain, I couldn't tell.
           "He gived me a shot," Allie complained. Her voice was becoming meek and inaudible.
           "Its okay, honey," Dad said referring to the IV in her left arm, "The nice doctor just wants to make sure you will get better. Okay honey?" His voice was shaky and small. He was on the verge of cracking, not like I was any different.
           Allie frowned, "Okay, Daddy."
           "You're gonna' be just fine baby," he said to his little girl, "God's watching over you. He'll take care of you."
           "I know Daddy."
           He smiled to choke back the tears, "You don't have to talk, just close your eyes and rest so you can get better, okay baby?"
           "Okay Daddy." She closed her eyes and started to rest. Tears were streaming from each of us. We couldn't handle it.
           "We love you," Mom said very softly. She leaned over and kissed her daughters forehead, and eyes, and face, and hand.
           "Love you too, Mommy." She was half asleep now, and hopefully out of her pain.
           We were intent on staying the night at the hospital. Visiting hours didn't apply to us. We pulled up our chairs beside her bed. Mom and Dad had two chairs next to each other on her left side. They cried themselves to sleep around 2:30. They fell asleep in each others arms. I pulled my chair up on her right side, and cried my self to sleep just before three in the morning.
           A small voice woke me up that morning. I looked at the clock, it read 3:12.
           "Cody, Cody, Cody." cried her small voice. It was fleeting from inaudible to ghostly. I couldn't stand the meek sound coming from her frail body. Her delicate body was having trouble lifting her heavy chest.
           "Allie, its alright. What do you want," I respond as tenderly as I can without breaking in front of her.
           "Hold you," The familiar command to pick her up and hold her in my arms brought a smile to my face, a twisted, sad, awful smile.
           "I can't baby sis. You have to stay in bed." My words nearly broke my own heart.
           "No, Cody. Hold you," she pleaded with every ounce of strength she had left. One tear dropped from my face.
          "How 'bout I hold your hand." I grabbed her hand softly before she could respond and kissed it. In the faint light I would have sworn I saw her smile.
          "Okay." Allie said and she squeezed my index finger slightly before falling back to sleep.
           At that moment, I broke into a silent sob, that seemed to never end. I couldn't tell you when I fell asleep, only that I did.
           I woke up the next morning, being shaken by my parents. My first thought was what's going on? That quickly faded away once I saw their faces. I stood up and looked over at the bed, she was gone. Tears flooded my eyes again. My clothes were stained by them, my parents were stained with them, but we didn't care. We were in our own universe of pain, and without words, we communicated it to every bystander we didn't care about. Life was passing by around us, but all we wanted to do was let it pass. After twenty minutes or so, Doc made his presence apparent.
           "Would you like to see her body before you go make plans for the funeral?"
           He said it with a practiced remorse and pity. His words dryly betrayed his act, though the meaning wasn't misplaced. In my heart, I didn't want to know, I didn't want to believe it. It wasn't real. How could she be gone? She wasn't even five yet! My actions quickly betrayed my heart. I nodded, It was the least I could do.
           He led us to a room, where they had taken her. A white sheet was pulled back just past her stomach. I cried the minute I entered, though it is hard to tell when I stopped. She was still beautiful, even if she was pale. Her tiny body was still. Her cheeks no longer rosy. Her hair no longer light. She was unmoving, and the thought itself was unnerving. I saw her tiny hand, still clutching my finger.
           I saw her last smile. I caused it. Those two thoughts flooded my head and I cried harder. What Are Tears? That immediately followed. I pondered it then while crying, I ponder it now. It never truly left my head. It haunts me.
           Like I said though, I'm not near done healing. The hole has been torn and it doesn't seem to like going back in place. It reminds me of the fun energetic kid that used to run, laugh, dance, and play like there was no tomorrow. It reminds me of her laugh, her voice, her smile.
           My Doc thinks that all this is a bad thing, like I'll never heal if I keep thinking this way. He also says that sleeping with her blanket is bad for Mom and Dad and that Teddy shouldn't live in my room. To me though, they're like tiny ways of honoring her. I put all of her drawings up on my wall. They remind me of her more than her photographs ever will. In these I see her; her personality, her thoughts, her beliefs.
           She believed in many things, like fairies, God, and peace on Earth. The only sweet thing about her death is she never lost her innocence.  She never had her faith shredded to pieces. She never felt living pain.
           What are tears? They are purity. They are Love. I lost my sun on June 3, 2010. My world went dark and I cried. I cried for me, because I loved her and I couldn't see life without her. A man in a broken world is simple, he is pure. His empire is in ashes and all he has is tears, love, and God to put it back together. He doesn't care about the color of the man putting him on his feet. He doesn't care about race, faith, politics, age. He isn't violent, he is humble. Tears are purity.
           Why we held Allie's funeral two weeks later on her fifth birthday, I will never understand. But today, on June 17, 2010, I have decided to honor her the only way I know how, to learn from her. My sister was caring, honest, honorable, respectful, and fair. She will be my light. I will better myself for her, me, and Jesus. I do this because I know what my tears are. All of you in her funeral today, do you?

Description
          What are tears? This question has haunted me like a quiet and annoying friend. I have gotten to know it well in the last two weeks.
          It all started the summer before senior year. It was supposed to be the most fun and amazing summer of my life. It was all going well in the beginning of that summer. Now, I can't wake up without feeling the void she left in my heart.
          Let me clarify, this is a story about a girl and it is about love, but  in this tragedy, I don't fall in love with the girl. I do love her, and I always will, but I am not in love with her. This tragedy is about my sister, Allie.
           She woke up crying that morning. She got out of bed and walked slowly down the hall, her feet patting down the long hall way. Her cries are muddled and just little sighs. The tears were running down her cheeks. Her eyes were wet and glassy, her hair was a tangled mess, her cheeks rosy and redder than usual. She held her blanket against her face, her pink, butterfly blanket she has had since she was born. Her head was cocked to the side as she slid her toes across the hallway to my room in her pink pajamas.
           She walked into my room in that crisp, clear morning, and cried, "Cody, my neck hurts."
           Her voice, her sad cry was the first thing I heard that morning as she woke me up. Her soft voice carried a caring smile to my face, as if to say, "It will all be alright."
           "Its ok, sis." I tell her. I pick her up and take her to the couch and wrap up that four year old baby in my blanket to watch TV.
           "Would you like to watch Sponge Bob?" I asked her. Her sleepy head nodded painfully.  I could tell it was bad by the way she was acting. She had no energy, no spirit. So I turned on the TV and laid with her on the couch. I held her little body in my arms and watched TV with her. Her eyes were glazed and blank as she watched. Not even a smile.
            I stole a kiss on her forehead, and snaked a reading of her temperature. She was burning up, almost like a fire. She was so little, fragile, innocent. She seemed to have no reaction to it, she even started to laugh a little, and my fears eased.
            I watched TV with her for hours, from Sponge Bob to Penguins of Madagascar to I Carly. She laid there interested by the flashing lights, but non responsive to them either. Mom woke up and came out of her bedroom with a smile on her face, unaware of her daughter's illness.  As soon as she woke up to that fact as well, she erupted into a chaotic frenzy.
            "Has she eaten ," were the first words I remember being actually spoken.
            "No, she hasn't, but I made her some food and she didn't want it," I said, indicating the now cold Pop Tart on the coffee table. Mom seemed concerned, but satisfied with my response. She had me make Allie some toast with water for her to eat.
            When I came back into the room, Allie had just finished taking a dose of children's Motrin without complaint. We then proceeded to coax her into eating the toast. She managed to hold it in and my Mom seemed to take it as her getting better, however her frantic attitude still remained.
            Mom said that Allie couldn't stay on the couch anymore and sent her to watch movies in her room. I took Allie to her room and laid her down. She chose a movie and I stayed to watch August Rush with her. She truly smiled for the first time that morning when I told her I would watch it with her, she hates to be left alone.
            I wrapped her up and watched a movie about a boy that set out to beat all odds. He went searching for the impossible and found it. He persevered through difficult situations, even when he felt like giving up. He held onto hope, to love, to dreams, to wishes, and accomplished what he set out to do. I sit here wondering now, what happens to her dreams? To the work she did to reach what she has? What would she have become?
            I saw her laying there, watching the movie, and noticed her skin getting paler. I dismissed it at first as just the glow from the television, but it seemed to grow worse until she fell asleep. She slept through about thirty minutes until she awoke sweating. She immediately leaned over her pan and spilt the contents of her stomach. It was terrible to watch her small form bent over that silver pot. She laid back down to rest again, but couldn't fall asleep.
           We finished watching the movie, and I put on Hotel for Dogs for Allie to watch. I walked into the living room as my Father came home. Dad and Mom talked about her fears of what Allie might have and they both grew panicked. Dad took her out of bed and put her in the car. We all drove in relative silence to the hospital.
           Waiting was the worst part. The waiting room was too quiet and filled with despair. I flipped through a few magazines, which only fueled the nightmares playing in my head. It seemed as though years had passed in the twenty-five it actually took to examine her and discover why she was so ill.
           The Doc came in. Immediately our family stands up and swarms around him. My ears no longer work, all sound has become inaudible, just the deep drumming of my heart pounding in my ears. My eyes become blurry, yet it doesn't hinder my ability to walk to the Doc. Even in the wake of this new condition of mine, I am able to understand what is going on.
           Doc truly does heal, because my symptoms vanished on his words, "At her age, it is completely fatal." All of a sudden all the sound and sight I had lost in my short time had burst back to me. My world swirled in my head, making me dizzy. My Mom and Dad seemed to be pleading with Doc, but I no longer cared for the meaning of words.
           I suddenly realized that the small, quick breathes stifling a cry escaped from me. A small puddle collected at my feet, at the end of a salted river. The tears stung even my cheeks as they passed across my flesh. I turn back to look at Mom and Dad, she is crying full out, with hushed screams too far from my world to hear. Dad had tears running down his face, but it was fixed as he held his wife. Someone had to stay strong, it was too late for that too be me.
           "When you have collected yourself, I can take you to her," at least Doc still tried to care. Sympathy only goes so far.
           He led a more settled group down countless corridors in his labyrinth, until we reached a door toward the back.
           "This is hers," Doc again.
           We all had stopped crying, said a prayer, and put on a face that could win an Academy Award. Thank God for my acting classes and talents. As soon as I had walked through the door, I felt a small tug at my heart. Her pale, small, frail body was lying on one of the enormous hospital bed. She was out of place. There were tears streaming down her face. From fear or pain, I couldn't tell.
           "He gived me a shot," Allie complained. Her voice was becoming meek and inaudible.
           "Its okay, honey," Dad said referring to the IV in her left arm, "The nice doctor just wants to make sure you will get better. Okay honey?" His voice was shaky and small. He was on the verge of cracking, not like I was any different.
           Allie frowned, "Okay, Daddy."
           "You're gonna' be just fine baby," he said to his little girl, "God's watching over you. He'll take care of you."
           "I know Daddy."
           He smiled to choke back the tears, "You don't have to talk, just close your eyes and rest so you can get better, okay baby?"
           "Okay Daddy." She closed her eyes and started to rest. Tears were streaming from each of us. We couldn't handle it.
           "We love you," Mom said very softly. She leaned over and kissed her daughters forehead, and eyes, and face, and hand.
           "Love you too, Mommy." She was half asleep now, and hopefully out of her pain.
           We were intent on staying the night at the hospital. Visiting hours didn't apply to us. We pulled up our chairs beside her bed. Mom and Dad had two chairs next to each other on her left side. They cried themselves to sleep around 2:30. They fell asleep in each others arms. I pulled my chair up on her right side, and cried my self to sleep just before three in the morning.
           A small voice woke me up that morning. I looked at the clock, it read 3:12.
           "Cody, Cody, Cody." cried her small voice. It was fleeting from inaudible to ghostly. I couldn't stand the meek sound coming from her frail body. Her delicate body was having trouble lifting her heavy chest.
           "Allie, its alright. What do you want," I respond as tenderly as I can without breaking in front of her.
           "Hold you," The familiar command to pick her up and hold her in my arms brought a smile to my face, a twisted, sad, awful smile.
           "I can't baby sis. You have to stay in bed." My words nearly broke my own heart.
           "No, Cody. Hold you," she pleaded with every ounce of strength she had left. One tear dropped from my face.
          "How 'bout I hold your hand." I grabbed her hand softly before she could respond and kissed it. In the faint light I would have sworn I saw her smile.
          "Okay." Allie said and she squeezed my index finger slightly before falling back to sleep.
           At that moment, I broke into a silent sob, that seemed to never end. I couldn't tell you when I fell asleep, only that I did.
           I woke up the next morning, being shaken by my parents. My first thought was what's going on? That quickly faded away once I saw their faces. I stood up and looked over at the bed, she was gone. Tears flooded my eyes again. My clothes were stained by them, my parents were stained with them, but we didn't care. We were in our own universe of pain, and without words, we communicated it to every bystander we didn't care about. Life was passing by around us, but all we wanted to do was let it pass. After twenty minutes or so, Doc made his presence apparent.
           "Would you like to see her body before you go make plans for the funeral?"
           He said it with a practiced remorse and pity. His words dryly betrayed his act, though the meaning wasn't misplaced. In my heart, I didn't want to know, I didn't want to believe it. It wasn't real. How could she be gone? She wasn't even five yet! My actions quickly betrayed my heart. I nodded, It was the least I could do.
           He led us to a room, where they had taken her. A white sheet was pulled back just past her stomach. I cried the minute I entered, though it is hard to tell when I stopped. She was still beautiful, even if she was pale. Her tiny body was still. Her cheeks no longer rosy. Her hair no longer light. She was unmoving, and the thought itself was unnerving. I saw her tiny hand, still clutching my finger.
           I saw her last smile. I caused it. Those two thoughts flooded my head and I cried harder. What Are Tears? That immediately followed. I pondered it then while crying, I ponder it now. It never truly left my head. It haunts me.
           Like I said though, I'm not near done healing. The hole has been torn and it doesn't seem to like going back in place. It reminds me of the fun energetic kid that used to run, laugh, dance, and play like there was no tomorrow. It reminds me of her laugh, her voice, her smile.
           My Doc thinks that all this is a bad thing, like I'll never heal if I keep thinking this way. He also says that sleeping with her blanket is bad for Mom and Dad and that Teddy shouldn't live in my room. To me though, they're like tiny ways of honoring her. I put all of her drawings up on my wall. They remind me of her more than her photographs ever will. In these I see her; her personality, her thoughts, her beliefs.
           She believed in many things, like fairies, God, and peace on Earth. The only sweet thing about her death is she never lost her innocence.  She never had her faith shredded to pieces. She never felt living pain.
           What are tears? They are purity. They are Love. I lost my sun on June 3, 2010. My world went dark and I cried. I cried for me, because I loved her and I couldn't see life without her. A man in a broken world is simple, he is pure. His empire is in ashes and all he has is tears, love, and God to put it back together. He doesn't care about the color of the man putting him on his feet. He doesn't care about race, faith, politics, age. He isn't violent, he is humble. Tears are purity.
           Why we held Allie's funeral two weeks later on her fifth birthday, I will never understand. But today, on June 17, 2010, I have decided to honor her the only way I know how, to learn from her. My sister was caring, honest, honorable, respectful, and fair. She will be my light. I will better myself for her, me, and Jesus. I do this because I know what my tears are. All of you in her funeral today, do you?