This really is real,

And terrible, too,

Why did they have to make her blood,

Spill like chicken noodle soup?

Why Mommy?

Why?

Did she have to go?

Wouldn't it be nice to have her,

For just another minute or so?

Is this what they wanted all along?

To hit and run and carry on?

Do they even feel the least bit bad,

For making me take medicine,

To stop my walls from caving in?

I want her to read me about the Beauty and the Beast,

I want her to tell me it was only just a dream,

But my tear-stained pillow gives it all away,

That she is no longer here to stay.

Maybe it's better,

That she's gone now and not later,

Because you know that she didn't take sides,

And hers was a mountain too tall to climb,

And she knew it but she didn't let it get her down,

And I always wanted to be like her when she was around.

I used to ask her nicely for a small glass of water,

At bedtime, when I was thirsty,

And she would graciously bring me my sippy cup,

Then call me a princess and curtsy,

And pick one more book from the bookshelf,

And sit at the top of my bed,

And stroke my hair and read to me,

Telling me to have sweet dreams instead,

And tuck my covers in just right,

And kiss my waiting forehead,

And I'd close me eyes and she'd turn off the lights,

Assuring me she'd see me in the morning.

Whenever I was sick,

She'd wait up just for me,

Until I was done coughing,

She'd spoon-feed me soup,

And make me take naps without a group,

Her sweet singing voice would lure me to sleep,

And I would dream of the hot bubble bath

That was sure to come when the night was weak.

I loved her with all my heart, mommy,

Why is she gone?

I want her back,

I can't do this alone,

Where is my sister?

Where has she gone?

When is she coming back?

Why can I no longer laugh?

Why am I alone?

I miss when she would tie,

My shoelaces in her special loop,

I want her back, mama,

I miss her secret sickness remedy;

Chicken noodle soup.