Gosh I don't really know what else to say. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
It's been a week and well… I don't think you're going to wake up.
I'm sorry. This is all my fault, everything that's going on right now.
I miss you Emily. I miss your smile, the way your eyes lit up whenever something amused you, the jokes you told that were never funny but I laughed at anyways. I miss the way you'd crawl into my bed when you were scared and the way you'd wake me up by jumping on top of me even though I told you I hated it. I just miss you.
I know that if you were awake, you'd probably tell me that none of this was my fault, that I'm free of blame. But between my own stifling guilt and the fact that mom actually vocalizes her resentment towards me, it's kind of hard not feel that way. I was the one driving the car Emily, who else can we blame but me?
And don't you dare get angry at mom; she's had it rough. She hasn't been the same since Dad died (I'm sorry you never really got to know him). Before Dad, before she went a little nuts and obsessive, before I had to be your mom; she was a pretty great lady. I'm sorry that you never got to know that side of her, and I'm sorry that you never will get the chance to. I'm sorry that I had to be your mom while she tried to find herself. I'm sorry.
You're not going to wake up. I accepted that fact six days ago. There's too much damage, but Mom still hopes for the impossible. She sits by your bedside for hours, not moving, perhaps waiting for some miracle (I don't think I believe in miracles anymore Emily). I know you're probably angry that I haven't really come to see you, but Mom doesn't want me there when she's in the room, and she's always in the room. Don't worry about me Emily, someday Mom will forgive me, I know she will.
The doctors are pulling the plug in few days and then you won't be here, even in your restful form. It's hard for me, so hard. I mean, you're only ten years old. You're much too young to die. Even at seventeen, I feel as though I've lived an entire life more than you ever will. You'll never go to high school, you'll never have your first kiss, your first love, you won't ever go to prom, dance until dawn. I'll never have awkward conversations with the boys you'd bring home; conversations that Mom should do, but never would have. I'll never watch you walk down the aisle or cry when you'd say "I do."
Emily, when you're in heaven, promise you'll send me a dream that tells me you're okay. Promise you'll try to mend our mother's heart in her sleep. Emily, save me spot to sit with you when I go as well because I know that all the angels will want to sit next to you and I'll have to fight my way through the masses just to see your face.
Remember me when you see the pearly gates and walk through the golden streets. Don't forget me when you're surrounded by perfection.
I'm sorry Emily.