On March 16, 2012, my dad took me to McDonald’s. I was enjoying the savoring taste of the juicy, cheeseburger I had ordered. Suddenly my dad received a phone call. He scurried outside to continue the call. Moments late my dad said he had something urgent to tell us when we got home. In the car, I leaned y back against the cushiony seat, wondering what was so urgent.

As we turned into our driveway, I grew more and more anxious to hear what he had to say. We entered our house and my dad sent my brother to his room. While my sister and I followed him into the living room. When he asked us to sit down, I had a sickening feeling in my stomach; this was not good news. He started to explain but we could see him stop numerous times; he didn’t know where to begin from. Once again he tried to explain. This time he started by saying that the phone call he received earlier was from our aunt, Esperanza in El Salvador. Tia Esperanza had called to tell us that my cousin Christian had been run over and died instantly.

When I heard the news, my mind went blank after the word died. It was too much for me to take in this late Friday. Just earlier I was enjoying my meal, and now I learned that my ten year old cousin had been run over. I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t want to believe it! We just met him in July of 2011. I hadn’t been a year and now he was gone. Struggling to move my feet, I headed to my room I began to franticly search for the bracelets he had given me when I left. When I found them I read the words on them, Love & Happiness. Instantly, they dropped from my hands. Moments later, I followed as I collapsed to my knees. I began to weep; I could never see him again. Never again will I hear him laugh or see him smile. Why him? It was all I kept thinking about. Christian was only ten and his mother was in New York. New York! He hadn’t seen his mother in a while and now he never will.

I felt frustrated, depressed, and bitter. My feelings kept swirling inside of me. I headed outside to search for my dad. He was in kitchen on the phone with my mom. As I got closer I heard him say “Poor Diego.” Diego? Diego!

I completely forgot about Christian little brother Diego. When my dad finally turned and noticed me I asked him, “How is Diego?” He replied by saying that Diego was fine but traumatized. He was with Christian when the incident happened.

I couldn’t believe it. Diego had witnessed his brother get run over. The thought sent shivers down my spine. He was only six years old. To witness something like that, I could never imagine the pain he must be going through. I couldn’t stop crying; it hurt too much to stop.

When I finally calmed down, I went to my room to lie on my bed. Every time I close my eyes, I saw Christian’s face. He was someone fun to be around with. When I think of him, the memories of the good and bad times we had together roam through my head. The times we laughed and times we argued, these are the moments I hold dear to me, they are what I have left of him. Christian left something in everyone when he died. The memories and bracelets are what he left me, my special something.