At seventeen

At seventeen I was sent to find out what happened to the woman I had always looked up to, only to find a crime scene, a tv news crew, shocked spectators, police and fireman.

At seventeen my mother called me to ask what I had found out. I froze and stared at the screen. Unable to pick up and answer. Unable to tell her what I had just learned. Hyper aware, that as long as I did not pick up, I gave my mother a few more seconds of life as it was supposed to be. Life as it had always been.

At seventeen I was brought into a police station as a witness to share everything I knew to help them investigate in a murder case. Wait, did my cousin really die? I hadn't seen her. Are you sure it’s her? I really think you’re mistaken. It could not be her. This can not happen for real. I’ve seen this happen on the news to other people. She is not other people.

At seventeen I saw the aftermath of femicide before we started to name it femicide.

At seventeen I went to every court sitting to see firsthand how justice is done. It was not enough. It could never be enough.

At seventeen I saw what a grieving mother looks like.

At seventeen I was afraid to pick up the phone when it rang because I thought the voice on the other end of the line would tell me someone died.

At seventeen I got a tattoo to carve her bodily existence into mine.

At seventeen I regretted never telling her how much I loved her. She will never know.

At seventeen I decided I’d rather be sentimental or too much in judgmental eyes than to keep my love or admiration silent.

At seventeen I started taking pictures of people I care about. I’m a horrible photographer, but that is never the point. Keepsakes are. The few we have of her are everything.

At seventeen I learned you don’t get what you give. You get what you get. She was kind, gentle and loved. None of it protected her.

At seventeen a real life devil punched a hole in my gut. Others heard its creation when I howled at her wake.

At seventeen life as I knew it changed forever.

At seventeen I had a cousin who was nineteen.

She was nineteen.

At only nineteen years old she was everything a person is before they become a memory.