When the first message arrived, I was asleep.
When I awoke, I walked down the dusty and uncertain path from our guest house to the street cart where we buy breakfast. My teammate Jake and I talked about whether or not we had been paying a fair price for our meals, or if they were charging us more because we are Muzungus (white people).
When I returned to our common room, I read the message.
"hey dave its kenra. call me as soon as you get this."
It was from just after midnight that morning. I stepped outside into our garden and called her back immediately. No answer.
I thought she was in trouble.
I met my sister at McDonald's.
Give a kid a Happy Meal, and he'll swallow just about anything else along with it.
When I was 2 years old, my parents divorced. When I was 3, when my favorite movie was "Kindergarten Cop," when I would tell people that I wanted to be a scientist (unspecified) when I grew up, when I had only an older brother, Ryan, when we lived with my Mom in a two-bedroom townhouse and visited my Dad at his apartment, I began to learn about family. By the time I was 4, not because of blood, but because of love, I had a new older brother and two older sisters.
My Mom married Ken, and with him came Amanda and Jonathan; eventually, they would also bring my only younger sibling, Scott, into the world.
My Dad married Eden, and with her came Alex.
Not five minutes after I hung up the phone and started into my egg sandwich, my phone rang.
I expected Kenra but read Thomas on my phone instead.
We said hello, and I asked him about Kenra. Had he heard from her? Is she okay?
"Yeah, she's fine," he said. "Hey, I need you to call a number."
"Okay," I replied. "You sound awful. What's the number?"
"1-813-xxx-xxxx."
"That's my brother's number."
Dad and Eden went to New Orleans not long after they were married. He had an interview at a power company. The company put them up in a hotel, and they had to charge their dinner to the room because they couldn't afford to eat out. It was time for a change.
They went with Alex to New Orleans. I stayed with my Mom in Tampa but would visit them often. I remember crying at the terminal for my first flight, as I clutched Ryan's hand with one of my own and waved goodbye to my Mom with the other. I remember learning how to throw a Frisbee in the backyard. I remember nearly lighting the front lawn on fire with sparklers on the Fourth of July. I remember ripping the head off of her Barbie doll because I saw someone do the same on TV and having to apologize to Alex. I remember sharing a room with her and me complaining about it. I remember her calling me a brat. I still remember how she was right.
We found walking sticks together in the Smoky Mountains and followed our Father along whatever trail he chose. We went on vacation to Destin, and she and I ordered room service, assuming it was free. We only took one bite of those $15 chicken wings because they were too spicy. We went to Hawaii and both got braids in our hair. I dyed my hair blue, she dyed her hair black. Somewhere in the southeast, we got in such a loud fight that Dad and Eden heard us from down the hotel hallway on their way back from a romantic dinner.
They moved to Mississippi, and she fast-forwarded through the nude scene in "Titanic" so that I wouldn't see it. They moved to Arkansas, and we dragged our Dad, before his knee surgery, up the highest peak in Little Rock. They moved to Connecticut and I had a crush on her best friend Dykie. Somehow in between my move to college and hers to Colorado, it became hellos on holidays and birthdays. It did with all my brothers and sisters.
It was almost 2 a.m. in Florida, but my brother picked up the phone, wide awake. I was as well, expecting the worst.
"Hey Ryan, what's going on?" I asked desperately. "Why did they have me call you?"
"What have they told you so far?" he asked in response.
"Nothing. Will you please tell me what's happening?"
"Just calm down. Call Dad, he wants to talk to you. But you need to calm down. I love you."
Last summer, I sat in a circle with a dozen of the best people I know, sipping sweet tea and enjoying the beginning of another summer at Rockmont, the camp where I'd spent all but one of my past 13 summers.
It was a meeting of the staff of directors and leaders, and the camp director, Dan, had a question for all of us: "What is your greatest failure?" He joked that, as you get older, you have to start narrowing down by decade. Without any thought, I was set to start my normal spiel about idolizing my ex-girlfriend and falling out with friends and with God because of my mistakes with her.
Then God spoke. That answer was easy, but it wasn't what was really true.
My greatest failure was that I'd been given the gift of a unique, beautiful, big family, and I hadn't loved them like Christ would love them. I hadn't loved them like a brother or a son or a stepson should love them. I hadn't loved them more than I'd loved myself and the life that I was living and the people I was choosing.
Sitting at the end of the circle, I was able to look out at the freshly cleared land so that no one else could see.
His voice hoarse. His heart broken. Just after 3 a.m. for him, just after 10 a.m. for me.
"Dave," my Dad said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, I'm sorry we can't be there with you, but your sister Alex died last night."
He gave me the details, but they didn't matter.
Alex was in an accident.
Alex was dead.
Alex moved back to Florida last year, to St. Pete, less than an hour's drive from my house in Tampa, but I didn't see her much more.
What I didn't see was her working as hard as always and readying herself to go back to school. What I didn't see was her taking care of Grandma Lee after her stroke, buying her groceries and keeping her company and walking her dog.
The last time I did see her was on a Skype call at Christmas. It was the first time I'd seen her since I'd left in October. It was the first time I'd talk to her since her birthday in November. I was on with my Dad, and he was giving Ryan and Alex a hard time because I'd noticed from Nicaragua on that shaky Skype connection that he'd gotten new glasses, but they had both missed it in person.
They came to the computer. Ryan waved his glass and walked away casually. My dad got up from the computer, and Alex sat down on the stool.
She told me Merry Christmas. She asked how I was. She told me again how proud she was of me.
She told me to stay safe.
She told me goodbye.
