My sister dialed 911. That’s the last thing I remembered before blacking out.
What happened on my 14th birthday wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. I awoke in a hospital. I looked myself up and down and realized what happened. My dad had beat me up again, but this time he had gone further than any time before. I later found out that he broke my left arm.
A nurse walked in and I asked about my sister. Silence filled the room. “Well how is she?!” I demanded.
“Your sister is in a coma. Her right leg, left arm, jaw, and collar bone are all broken. I don’t have a lot of other information right now, but I’ll tell you as soon as I do,” she answered.
I broke down automatically. My older sister, Caylin, is the closest that I have to a mom right now. My mom left 3 months ago with my little brother. My dad killed my other sister, Johanna. I haven’t slept a full 8 hours since the night before that happening.
I was let out of the hospital 2 days later, but didn’t go anywhere. Instead, I walked 6 rooms down, where my sister lay. She was still in a coma. I sat by her bed and silently cried. The kind where you hold your breath as tears slowly chase their way down your cheeks. I couldn't see her like this any longer so I walked down to the cafeteria and got a cheeseburger. I ate two bites of it before feeling like I was gonna throw up.
I decided to take a walk, so I left the hospital and walked to school because unfortunately I was supposed to be there today. I was in 8th grade. My friend, Sarah, moved 2000 miles away, a week ago. She didn't tell me until an hour before she had to leave and I wasn't allowed to see her.
I spent that entire day at school being asked what happened to me. I ignored some people and told others I got in an accident. I didn't care that I was lying. I've had black eyes and broken noses for the same reason that my arm was broken. I heard people whispering around me. I had amazing hearing though, so they weren't really hiding anything. My teachers even wondered. I usually shook anything that happened off, but today it was really bothering me. I couldn’t focus.
After school, I walked back to the hospital because it was only two blocks away. I got to my sister’s room and walked over to her bed. I started talking and then reached to pull the blanket down. It wasn’t her. My heart raced. “Where is she?!” I thought. I ran to the front desk and screamed, “Where is Caylin?!”
The lady at the front desk told me that she had been moved because she needed to be in a room by herself. When I got to her new room, she was still in a coma. That night, I slept over at the hospital in Caylin’s room. I was in and out of sleep. I had nightmares that our dad came to the hospital and took us “home.” Then beat us. I woke up at 3am and couldn’t fall asleep again, so I walked down to the cafeteria and sat in a chair just thinking.
At around 6am, I went back up to my sister’s room. I laid back down, but I didn’t hear the heart monitor. It didn’t phase me at first. All of a sudden, everything went quiet though. Then the heart monitor started beeping out of control. The nurses came rushing in. They were saying a bunch of things I didn’t understand. I couldn’t watch any longer without losing it, so I ran out of the room. I took a walk in the halls for a little while. A nurse saw me and started talking to me. “Your sister isn’t doing well. Her heart rate isn’t very stable.” I didn’t want to, but I completely lost it. “Are you freaking kidding me!? She has to be alright.” I was too mad to cry. The nurse was going to start talking, but just then she got paged.
She came back to the hallway half an hour later (I’m guessing) and I was still there, so she started talking to me again. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Caylin passed away.” I couldn’t even speak. I was so angry and sad. I already had to deal with Johanna’s death and now Caylin’s. I had no older sibling anymore. No real guidance.
I started losing it again. I screamed at the nurse. Then I just dropped and sat down on the floor. I started bawling. I couldn’t stop crying. “I’m so sorry,” I choked out.
“It’s okay. You have a lot going on right now and I know the emotions build up,” the nurse reassured me.
I sat on the floor for at least an hour, crying, that Saturday.
The days ahead would be some of the most difficult days of my life. I didn’t have any place to sleep, so technically I was homeless. I rationed out the little amount of money I had left.
When I went to school the next day and started walking to class, I got pushed into a locker. I normally didn’t get bullied and the few times that I have, my friends stood up for me. I wasn’t really with anyone today though and nobody in the hall stood up for me.
I just kept walking down the hall after that. It didn’t phase me very much that I just got slammed into a locker until I got pushed again...into the wall. This time by somebody else. When I looked up, I saw my “best friend” and realized it was her that pushed me into the wall. She laughed and kept walking. Then turned around and said, “Look at that homeless girl. She’s so ugly.”
A lot of people in the hall laughed and people followed Hailey’s (my “best friend”) lead. I didn’t know how she knew I was homeless. She even yelled about how my sister Johanna died. She was the only one who knew that and she shared it with everyone. I walked back to the hall where my locker was and surprisingly no one was there. I sat with my back to my locker and cried. Bawling. Tears came out until what felt like I had no more left. I stared at the wall, my view blurry. The bell rang and instead of walking to my next class I walked out of the school doors with puffy, red eyes. On that day, I told myself I was never going to trust anyone again. In a week, my life spiraled out of control.
I didn’t even go to school the next day. I wasn’t ready to face everyone and everything at school. I went back to the hospital and sat in the same chair, in the cafeteria, I did the day that Caylin died. It’s hard to believe that was only a week ago. It feels like it’s been months. I miss her.
They had a washer and dryer in the hospital that you could use for free. I talked to one of the nurses, and she remembered me. I had a pair of shorts, sweatpants, a tank top, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. The nurse gave me a pair of socks. I washed most of the things I had left. I also took a shower in the hospital locker room, also thanks to the nurse.
I went back to school the following week. I was in English, and until now, I never really noticed how young the teacher looked. She couldn’t be any older than 22. Interesting. I started paying attention to everything around me a lot more after the hospital incident.
At the end of class, I was about to walk out of the classroom when Ms. Lana called me over to her desk.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered.
“I can see it in your eyes. You’re not okay. You don’t have to lie to me. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. You don’t have to do the homework, if you don’t want to. You’re a great student. Just know that I’m here,” she stated. “I’m 20 by the way. I know you were wondering because everyone does,” she added.
“I love your class, but you’re a teacher and if I told you anything, you would just tell the counselor. I can deal with my own problems,” I remarked.
“Miranda, you bottle everything up and sometimes you just need to let it out. It’s okay to let it out,” she explained.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I paused for what felt like hours after that. Finally I spoke again. “Bye,” I whispered.
“See you tomorrow,” she answered.
The next week, I came to school and got pushed around and made fun of. I couldn’t deal with it.
Just as I went to walk out of the school, Ms. Lana stopped me. “Please make your way to my classroom, Miranda,” she requested.
I walked to her classroom and sat down.
“Why were you leaving?” she asked.
I almost told her everything, but then I remembered the promise I made to myself to never trust anyone ever again. “I can’t do this,” I mumbled and walked out of her room.
“Miranda, wait,” she said. “I’m not going to make you tell me anything, but I promise it will help.”
I walked back in and stood by a desk. I thought for a minute and questioned whether I should tell her anything. I ended up breaking the promise to myself. I let everything spill out.
“I haven’t slept in 24 hours. I’m homeless. I have about $10 left. The reason I have these bruises and a broken arm is because my dad beat me.”
I paused and tears started to make their way down my cheeks.
I continued by saying, “My mom and little brother left a few months ago and my older sisters Johanna and Caylin died. Caylin passed away a couple weeks ago. He is very physically abusive, but I haven’t been back to his house since my sister and I went to the hospital. I had to leave all of my stuff there. My other sister, Johanna, was killed by my dad. She was 18. Everyone thought she drowned, but I watched him kill her. I still picture what happened that night sometimes. Nobody ever went into that case and it makes me mad every time I think of it. Hailey stopped talking to me and started bullying me. I get pushed around every day. I’m sick of everything and I don’t even want to live anymore. I bet all of this is my fault also.”
“Miranda, you have to understand that none of this is your fault. I am very sorry that all of that happened to you. You are very strong for continuing to live and come to school. Maybe there is a reason why all of this happened. I think it has made you stronger. You are a nice person. Don’t let them get to you. I understand a lot of what you have been through. My sister got murdered when I was 12 and I didn’t know what I was going to do without her. You’re only the second person I’ve ever told about this, but I know you won’t tell because of what you’ve been through. What happened to your sister Caylin?”
I started crying again. Geez. I’m surprised I have any tears left to shed.
“When my dad beat us up, she called 911. We were in the hospital for a few days. She was in a coma, but she never woke up. I never got to tell Caylin that I love her. People say, “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” I think you knew what you had, but you never thought you would lose it. The worst kind of goodbyes are the ones never said or explained. I never got to say goodbye.” I barely got this out.
“Come to my classroom any time you feel like you can’t deal with everything going on. You might not be perfect, but that’s okay. If nothing else, I want you to know one thing; you do not have to be perfect to be perfectly loved. I am here for you any time of day. No matter what is going on. You’ll be okay,” She told me caringly.
“I am an abundance of emotions right now,” I said with a chuckle.
I hugged Ms. Lana and thanked her a hundred times which probably annoyed her.
“I’ll be here for you no matter what,” she stated and handed me a slip of paper with her cell number on it. I thanked her one more time and started walking out.
“Wait,” she called. “You aren’t alone,” she expressed.
I walked out with a big smile making its way across my face. For the first time in a long time, I was at ease; content.

2 Months Later
Ms. Lana taught me to believe that everything happens for a reason. She helped me gain the confidence and courage to stand up for myself when I’m getting bullied. I have a lot of new friends, and they are some of the nicest people I have met. I know I don’t have my older sisters for guidance anymore, but she has helped and guided me more than she’ll ever know. No one understands me like she does. She is helping me keep my grades up. When I have bad days, she calms me down, and reminds me to think positive and that the next day is a new day with new opportunities. Every time we see each other in the hall, she smiles and says hi to me. I am doing better in History thanks to her. I got my highest test grade ever last week. She was proud of me, and I felt like for the first time ever someone was proud of me for something. Before I started talking to her, I wasn’t good enough for anyone. None of this would have been possible without her. I go to her classroom every day after school to talk to her. Although I’m never going to talk to my father again, I chose to forgive him. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I know it was worth it. I did it for my sisters. My life has changed dramatically in the last few months, but I know I’m not alone.