Dear Lauren,

She's gone. I can't believe it, but she's gone.

How cruel that on such a beautiful number like 50, I have to announce a death.

My great grandmother, my abuelita, Delia, is dead. We were on the road to see her when we got the call. I was going to say goodbye, but I never got the chance.

4 generations of firstborn girls on my mom's side now becomes 3.

My mom and I were driving on a highway to see her. Just her and I. She was supposed to go alone, but I wanted to come.

I won't get to see her again. It's painful once you realize that. That you never get to see someone you loved dearly again.

I want to scream and kick, anything to stop the snot from running out of my nose and the hot tears trailing down my cheeks.

Have you ever heard someone you loved cry? I hope you never do. It's a terrible sound that could bring an army to its knees. My mom, who could withstand a hurricane, has her face in her hands as I write this. Sobs wrack through her body as she tries to stay strong. Right now, my grandmother, her mom, is telling her to go back to her family or else she'll worry about her.

What is a sentence that's utterly broken you upon hearing it? I'm not the intended receiver, but when my tia said, "Don't worry, Mommy's here," to my mom, talking about my grandmother, I cried harder.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow. Everyone will be asking what's wrong, and I don't want to answer. I don't think I could make it through the day.

"Are you okay, Kristiana?" Tia asked.

I'm not, I want to cry, but I don't say that. I tell her the complete opposite.

"You wanted to say goodbye, right?" Mama asked. "It's better that the last moment with her you remember is happy."

But it's not. I can't remember what the last time I saw her was like. I remember bits and pieces, but not the whole thing. Not enough to remember any moments with her.

Between the cry-hiccups and coughing, it's hard to breathe. Even when I can catch a moment to take a breath, it still feels as if my lungs are empty of air.

It's hard to believe that just a few moments ago I wanted to play songs like Something That I Want to help Mama push through the 5 hour drive to get to Abuelita and that I was amazed by the giant blanket of fog covering everything. Now it just seems like an omen, kinda like that video asking about what the last line in a book we wrote about a best friend dying would be.

Lauren, I think I hear the flowers calling.

The world feels as gloomy and depressing as I feel. At least I know that I'm coping better than my mom. Maybe it's the writing or the fact that I wasn't as close.

What comes next after a person dies? Is it the funeral? Then do you read the will? Is there anything else? I hate not knowing what comes next, but at the same time I don't what to know. Where will she be buried?

We're going home and then traveling to where she lived tomorrow.

I'll talk to you later.