My cousin died yesterday. She was the passenger in a car that ran a red light. Her neck snapped. She was nineteen.

I received this news around 9 am, while i had just put my laundry into the washing machine and was enjoying a bowl of cheerios. My mom called me on the phone and started off by saying "I hate to be the one to break this to you..."

Melissa and I were close growing up. We were practically joined at the hip whenever we were together. I suppose we got along so well together because we were about the same age. Though we were separated by a thousand miles, we would write each other letters about school, friends, and life. We'd always tell each other how much we missed one another and how we hoped for the day when we could be reunited. Then over time, we stopped writing letters, and my family stopped taking road trips to Chicago. Life got busy for the both of us.

I'd hear news about her now and then. She's running cross country. She got a boyfriend. She got a job and is helping out her mother. She's living in an apartment with her friends. She's attending the University of Illinois at Chicago. She's majoring in business, and she wants to be in telecommunications. She's living a good life. My mother kept me updated whenever she'd talk with one of my father's sisters who live in Chicago-- usually my Tita Carmen. Everytime I heard news of her, I felt happy for her, but at the same time I wished that I could have been around to see her. I knew that she was there for me when I needed her, and she knew the same of me, but we never really kept in touch.

I think it was fear or rejection that kept me distanced from her. Since I heard all these things about her, she must have been so busy, and I didn't want to intrude on her. Or, I didn't want to feel let down when I would never receive a response in the mail from the letter I sent out a week ago. I don't know what it was. I regret now that I ever felt such fears, because it kept me from truly knowing her.

I cried all day yesterday. I didn't have the comfort of family around me because i'm in gainesville, but I have good roommates who take care of me. It's a relief that I'm not alone right now. I went to church, to find solace. There was a UF/UT football game yesterday, so the streets were packed with people enjoying themselves-- hardly a good time to be in search of solace, but I managed to get to church anyway. After seeing me cry, one of the workers there at the church, a young Latino man, called a priest for me. I didn't ask him to, and I didn't expect a priest to be there anyway, but he did. THe priest came, and he seemed a bit aloof to me... he didn't offer me any real relief for my soul. It was only after he left and I prayed that I stopped my sobbing and felt better. I saw the priest again today for mass. He gave an inspiring homily, but I felt that he rushed me in receiving the communion bread. I'm just happier to have met that nice young Latino man yesterday than i was to see the priest.

Anyway, I've had many realizations yesterday, and I thought that I'd be done with my crying today. But then my dad called... I can't go to Chicago for the funeral. I bawled for a good 45 minutes. My dad doesn't want to go, but he feels it's his duty to be there for his brother.

I'll never know her again. I'll never see her again. And I know all this stuff: she's in heaven, she's with her grandparents. My dad became frustrated with me for crying on the phone. I know we can't afford a ticket from Gainesville to Chicago, but I can't reason my way out of emotions. I can't say to myself, "okay then, i'll mourn at a more financially opportune time." I know I should pray for strength. I've been praying. I just feel like crying. I miss my cousin, I miss Melissa. I hate the fact that the last time I talked to her was in the spring. I hate the fact that the last time we saw each other was two years ago. I wish I could say goodbye to her. I wish I could have told her how much i love her, despite the fact that we barely see each other.

Isn't it funny though... I have probably not met her more than ten times in my life, and I hold her so close to my heart. I am happy that we were related to each other.

I have to make a few resolutions here and now: I will no longer be what I was up until Friday. That Amanda is gone. I don't know what will become of me, but I know I that I'm not the same.