by David-Michael, Santa Clara
My hero is my sister. Ever since we were young I was always getting into trouble, either if it was fighting or causing problems. My family stopped caring, started calling me a delinquent or the black sheep of the family. But my sister was never like that. She always took care of me, left dinner on the table when I would come home late, or even after a fight when I would come home bleeding and bruised up, she never judged me. She would always clean my cuts and scold me as if she was my parent, but I knew it was out of love and I would always take it for granted.
Looking back at it now, because now that she is gone, it’s not the same. Two years have passed since she took her life. She would be eighteen this year. It still feels like yesterday having my last conversation with her. She told me that she believed in me and that every night she would pray that I would come home safe and I was amazing in my own way. Not many people in my life have told me that, and every time she would scold me or get upset, it was because she cared. And I would brush her off and take it for granted and after she passed it left a big hole in my heart, like an emptiness that never left, because I realized what I had lost.
I had no one. I was alone. I just wish I knew what she was going through. She was always good at hiding how she felt, putting on a strong face for me, and she was always there for me no matter what. I just wish I could have been there for her like she was for me. Maybe if I spent more time with her or stopped doing stupid things and just maybe tried to understand what was wrong with her. After she died I stopped taking things for granted anymore. I spent more time with my family, stopped doing dumb things and stopped getting into fights. And I just wish I realized a lot more sooner but I know she is always looking after me and is always with me. I love my sister, my hero.