Sarah's Story
I visited her grave today. I whispered to her, hoping, pleading that she would answer, even subtly.
There was just silence, empty and sorrowful. Maybe I'm going mad. You couldn't blame me.
When Sarah first arrived into the world, I was only about five, but even then I knew she was an angel.
Her eyes were two crystal clear lakes, and her hair was a soft blonde with hint of gold. Her cheeks were
two roses and she kind of glowed a light gold. She almost never cried, and her smile could have lit up the
world. Now we all live in darkness.
Everyone was shocked when we found out that she had it. Sarah had loved to walk, and she was a
quick learner, so she could run after a couple weeks, too. The fact that she might not be able to walk
again shattered all our hearts, let alone that she might not even be able to breathe again. She had been
checked into Bruno's Children's Hospital at age three, and there was still the chance that she would
never live to see her next birthday. Sarah was very optimistic, though. She would babble on and on
about the doctors and nurses and the "metal thing" she saw some of her friends wear. Later we found
out it was an iron lung, and that Sarah was probably going to get one within the next two years. We
stopped visiting for a while after that. We weren't going to admit it, but we all knew somehow that we
were scared that the next time we saw her; she'd be in the iron lung.
Sarah's fourth birthday arrived and the doctors finally, finally, allowed one day and night with us,
provided she use a wheelchair. Mom was hysterical with joy. She hugged Sarah's light blond head and
fussed over her frail body and bony arms. When I finally caught her alone, I noticed just how much she
had changed. True, she was thinner, but her cheeks had lost their chubbiness, and the roses in them
were dying. Her eyes looked the same, but when you took another look, you'd realize the lake was
muddied. Her radiance was reduced to a sickly yellow. Worst of all, she never smiled, and when she did,
it felt out of place. Poppa noticed, too. He just sat there and gazed into space. Later I noticed a small
tear snaking down his faraway face. That Sunday, and everyday after that, I prayed my hardest that
Sarah would recover, and that life would return back to normal.
The next time I visited Sarah, she was in an iron lung, the thing that we had all been so afraid of. It was
a horrid black, with a small hole for Sarah's face, and little mirrors so she could see us. Mom burst into
tears, hugging Poppa's burly shoulders. Poppa patted Mom on the back, and murmured some
consolation, but he was staring off again. I decided to explore the hospital. I met a boy named Deegan
O'Malley. He was nine, my age, and had tousled black hair, chocolate-colored eyes, and a sprinkle of
freckles across his nose. His smile hadn't lost itself yet, and he had a small gap in his front two teeth.
Deegan had an iron lung, too.
"Who's your patient?" He asked.
"Sarah McKinley," I answered shakily.
Deegan looked at me somberly. "Sarah. She used to be the soul of this place. Made me laugh harder
than I've ever laughed before. She made us all forget we were sick..." Deegan's voice faded and he
looked faraway, like Poppa.
"And now?" I pondered.
"Well ever since Nellie, we're all a bit sadder. Sarah took it the hardest. Nellie was the peacemaker.
She was real sweet" He smiled vaguely.
I felt like crying again, but held my ground. "What happened to her?"
"She died. I mean, well, she got full on paralyzed. Doctor says it'll happen to just about everyone who
has it...." Deegan trailed off again.
"Like Sarah?" I asked my voice shaky again.
"Well, no. The iron lungs are supposed to prolong that or even keep it from happening. Nellie was
going to get hers the next day."
I looked at Deegan's troubled eyes through the mirror, and smiled. I would have thanked him, but I
felt that if I spoke, I would burst into tears like Mom did.
After talking to Deegan, I felt that Sarah might live. I sprinted back to Sarah's lung and told Mom about
Deegan and what he said, minus the part about Nellie. She gave a watery smile and finally let go of
Poppa, whose shoulder was so soaked that it was see-through.
The next month school got out, and I biked over to Bruno's every Monday and Friday to see Sarah and
Deegan. There was also a little girl name Kelli, and two twin boys named Joey and Guthrie.
Sarah got happier each time I visited, and, by my seventh visit, she was almost her old self, except for
her smile. It was still broken.
The week before school started had to be the worst week of my life.
I can remember it even now. I biked over to what was supposed to be my second to last week at
Bruno's. I walked inside, and talked to Sarah a bit. Then, suddenly, she started to go cold.
"Emma. Get the nurse." She croaked. I didn't want to leave. But that didn't stop me from screaming at
the top of my lungs. It was already too late. Sarah's cheeks were tinged blue. I numbed up, but found
the courage to whisper. "Sarah. Sarah, don't go. Sarah, I love you." I was shaking now, but for some
reason I couldn't cry. Sarah nodded slightly, and her eyes fluttered, as if it was taking all her strength just
to keep them open. Then she murmured something incomprehensible, and lay still, with a vague smile
on her small face. Then I started to cry. I sobbed and wailed and cursed on Sarah's small body, until the
nurse rushed in saw us, patted me on the shoulder, and shut the door. Later Mom and Poppa arrived.
Wiping my eyes on Sarah's ruffled shirt, I got up and left Sarah to he parents. I ran to Deegan's dorm,
and told him what happened. Deegan looked as stricken as me, and, a bit bewildered.
"But, she had an iron lung... “He muttered.” How could she...?"
We soon found out. Turns out the device was broken or something. The day we buried her was
beautiful and sad. Everyone was there, even all the patients, who wanted to see her go. We all listened
to a sermon that didn't even come close to describing her. Then we all said something about her. Mine
was:
Sarah, may you live on in Heaven, helping those lost souls find their way as you have helped these
souls find their way.
I was referring to the patients, but I think only Deegan got that one. He gave me a smile, or rather, a
grimace, which I returned hesitantly.
Sarah's gone now, but I still visit the hospital. I hadn't visited her grave in five years, but I did today.
There were still flowers on it, a couple of roses.
Her obituary read:
Sarah McKinley
1950-1955
An angel from the beginning, Sarah left us because of a tragic mistake.
I am now 25 years old and about to graduate from college, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten those
who have helped. I certainly haven’t forgotten Sarah.
- Ketaki Deo