Things change. For better or for worse they change. I like to think of it as...sacrificing the old for the new. Yeah, I hate change. Just when things get good, something bad has to happen. Something huge just decides to change. I mean you could just be a regular teenage girl, going to school, dreaming about the guy you want in your life, when BAM! God decides to punish you for something you didn't know you did by giving your little brother cancer. He's only seven years old, why would God decide to do that to someone? He was a good kid too, he always did his homework. He was even the one that went to church with Mom and Dad every Sunday. He was the kid that asked his parents why people were so mean. He was the kid that would share his lunch with the kid that got bullied every day. He once asked me why so many people don't believe in love anymore. Why would god take a kid like that? With something as painful as cancer? He was only seven. He'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, something very much unheard of in a seven year old. The doctors didn't find it soon enough, and there was no way he would make it through. It was very hard to treat. And extremely painful. The first time we'd learned about the cancer had been after he'd passed out from the pain in his stomach. His cancer hadn't spread, but it was too large for surgery. He had to go through chemotherapy and radiation therapy. He was in so much pain he couldn't even talk. But he didn't complain, he worked through it on his own. Why would a child like him be punished like this? If anybody were to be punished, it should have been me. I was an okay kid, but I should have been better. I should have gone to church. I should have devoted my life to God and his teachings. But I hadn't. Instead I went to parties and got drunk. Given myself away to plenty of guys, and almost failed my classes. How could I have been so stupid? Was this my punishment? Why would God punish me by hurting a little kid? I don't understand! He'd regressed so badly during his treatment, and it was so painful to watch. But one day he just seemed to be better. He'd been sitting up in bed, talking and even laughing with me. His cheeks were red, his eyes bright. I had thought everything was going to be okay. I'd been so naive. I'd been sitting next to his bed, holding his hand. He had told me he was tired and was trying to get some sleep. He was laying down on the bed, holding so tightly onto my hand that it was starting to cramp, but I didn't ever want to let go. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steadying out. He said something that I couldn't hear, so I leaned closer, and he whispered into my ear, "I love you. Tell mom that I love her so much." Those were the last words I'd ever heard come out of his mouth. After he told me he loved me, his breathing faltered, and his heart stopped. I heard it on the monitors. And I saw it. His body slumped further, his hand loosened, and he looked so peaceful. I leaned over, leaking tears all over him, and kissed him on the forehead. I told him I loved him so much. At that moment everything in my life changed, again. The doctors came in, seeing if they could do anything, they couldn't of course, but they came. Mom rushed in, tears streaming down her face, screaming as loud as she could. She wouldn't let go of him. She couldn't. She rocked him, and whispered to him, and kissed him repeatedly. I sat back and watched the whole thing. It was so unbelievable. But I had seen in happen. I looked at the ceiling of the hospital, but I was also looking further than that. I fell to my knees and whispered one word, "Why?"