I always hate how people cry at funerals. I know it shouldn’t because it is sad that a person passed away, but it does because I only have fifteen years. I only have fifteen years to die and normal people get eighty. And when you compare the life a sick fifteen year old who spent most of her life in a hospital bed to that of an eighty year old who got to finish high school, go to college, get married, and have a family it doesn’t seem so sad that they died. Except nobody cares what that person did with their life just how many years that person lived to do those things.
People used to ask me why I never cried when my mom died. I would just tell them that I didn’t need to cry. My mom lived a really successful life and yes living to be thirty-five is not a very long life, but it doesn’t matter. I mean she finished high school and college, had an extremely successful law practice, and was a loving wife and mother. She had a good life all except for the fact her heart was really weak and they couldn’t find a replacement it time. And now they told me they can’t find a replacement for my heart because that would mean a new heart every two years until the time I was about twenty. Oh well it doesn’t matter because I’m going to make the most of this year and make memories that will last longer than that.
All I hope is when I die that people remember all the things I did with my short life and not just that my life was short.
