Bailey Ellen Robinson 3/17/96-12/2/11

I only remember bits and pieces of December 2nd. The parts i do remember are acute and haunting, and the parts i have to put together and vague and difficult to understand. But i remember how ridiculously normal the day felt before my life was completely altered. How disgustingly fake the day feels looking back. I was scheduled to work a double at the restaurant. I had worked that morning and left not feeling well, so i had decided to lay down and take a nap before i took on the evening shift. I was due back to work at 6:00 so i set my alarm for 5:35. At 5:53 i woke up in a frenzy, realizing i had overslept, and i changed quickly rushing out of my room to the bathroom for a brush. My dad stopped me and explained that they were taking the boys to dinner and that Nick was coming to pick up Bailey for their date that evening. He asked me to make sure they were gone when i left, because the Robinson household has a strict "no boys in the house without a parent present" rule. I, of course, accepted the job willingly because i loved giving any of my sister's boyfriends a hard time. I let him know i was running late and in a hurry, but i would make sure they were gone before i was. I went back to getting ready and heard the garage door close as my parents left. I looked at the clock, 6:00. I finally had myself together and ran out with keys in hand to see Bailey and Nick sitting at my mother's piano in our living room. I walked over to Nick and said, "Hey, you know y'all can't be here alone. I'm leaving, y'all gotta go." He turned with a smile and replied, "Nice to see you too Elise. Hold on one second, she really wanted to show me this song. Once this song is over we will leave, i promise." I gave him what i had hoped was an intimidating gaze and responded, "Fine. But that song only. And it better be a short one Bay." Bailey who had not so much as looked up yet, turned and smiled. "I got it Elise. Have a good night at work. Love you." Reminding of work i turned around and hurried for my car yelling over my shoulder, "Thanks!! Love you too Bay. Y'all be safe." And closed the door behind me. There was no indication to me whatsoever that that moment was significant. There was no gut wrenching feeling that i should turn back and reiterate that she meant the world to me. No unsettling notion to alert me of something amiss. Nothing. I had no idea that those would be the last words i spoke to my sister. The last words spoken to her at all really, other than Nick's. But i have decided I am content with that good bye. I know that i would never be able to live with myself if i had said anything ugly. And i feel like knowing i needed to say good bye would have made me nervous and put all sorts of pressure on me to come up with a farewell that would never have been sufficient  in my mind. As far as last words go, i am content that our last words showed our love and concern for one another's happiness and wellbeing, regardless of whether we knew they were significant or not. I jumped in my car and glanced at the clock. 6:08 as i was driving off my street, 6:18 when my precious sister left this earth.

                 I left work around 8:30 and called a friend to accompany me to Wal Mart to kill some time. We were walking through the aisles, piddling, when I looked down at my phone and saw three missed calls. Assuming they were my mother, I checked them, but was surprised to find they were from three extremely random friends that I would rarely talk to on the phone. People close enough to text, but not to have long meaningful conversations with. Then I began receiving text messages from everyone in the city of Decatur it seemed. I went from zero to seventeen text messages in less than two minutes. Frazzled and unable to check them all, I glanced over the names and read the latest message. The first one I saw said, “There’s been an accident, you need to call your parents.” For some reason, my mind immediately flashed to my grandparents. They are older and an ‘accident’ wouldn’t be unthinkable. And furthermore they were well known in Decatur, and we are close enough that people would inform me and want to send their condolences. I decided the best information would lie with my sister because she would be at home. I assumed my father was just too upset to get in touch with me yet. So I called her, and it sent me to voicemail. Thinking quickly, I grabbed Ricky’s phone and logged onto Facebook, hoping my sister might have put some information up about where I could go to meet them, what hospital or if I should just go home. I typed in her named and scrolled down her page to find two simple posts that would  permanently alter my life, “RIP Bailey and Nick, you will be missed.” And “We love you Bailey. Praying for your family.” I stopped to process. Surely someone wouldn’t JOKE about that on Facebook. And if there had been an accident, and there were those posts… And then my best friend called. My other half really, that had gone to Texas for college. I answered hesitant, and her bawling over the phone confirmed my fears. A wave of nausea washed over me and I felt the color drain from my face. “What happened Jo?” I demanded. But she just cried. “I can’t be the one to tell you Elise, I just can’t. You need to call your parents.” She replied between sobs. But I had called them, they wouldn’t answer. I hung up the phone and tried again. But again, voicemail. The blur begins here. At some point I received information that told me to meet my youth minister at work. And I rushed there, glad to have some instruction. Many people have told me they called me that evening, and I remember getting many calls, but who they were and what was said is completely lost from me. I was completely numb. I wasn’t mad or sad, I was just an empty shell. I felt absolutely lifeless. I think I was still confused when I reached the restaurant, but Scott’s tears confirmed it all. I fell into him and let out whatever sound had been contained in my chest. What that was I will never know, an awful combination of a sob and scream. Just a sound of desperation.  But that was all. No tears, no weeping, that was it. Scott led me to the truck and drove me home. He pulled up to my house and I see roughly fifteen people standing in my driveway and yard waiting for my arrival. And I just sat there in the truck. And I felt something. I felt anger. I was angry that these people had known and I didn’t. That they were here with my family and I wasn’t. I was mad that I hadn’t been the first person on their minds other than my parents. I have learned since then that of course I was the first priority, the communication had just been poor, that is simply the only recorded emotion I can remember having that night. I sat in the truck and waited. I could have stayed in that truck for the rest of my life, because getting out would be facing reality. The harsh reality that was lurking inside that house for me. The reality that would be the rest of my life. So I just sat. But Scott came around the truck and crushed the only minute of peace I would have for weeks. He opened the door, and half drug me out of the car onto the grass where I would begin that long walk up my yard and through my front door. It had never felt like this before. My house had always been an inviting and peaceful sight for me. And now it looked huge. Like it was going to swallow me whole. I hugged a few of the people in the line that led to my house, but quickly became annoyed and began to push past them searching the faces for my parents. I remember it feeling like a movie.  All the faces of these normally happy people drawn and tear stained. I kept repeating over and over again in my head, “This is not my life. This is not my life. This is not my life.” I walked through the kitchen doorway and finally spotted my mother. I had thought this would help, but it was certainly a bittersweet emotion. I was glad to have found her, but bitter that I had to see my mother that way. I felt another wave of nausea and walked back to my bathroom. The bathroom Bay and I shared. Scott stayed right on my tail, watching my every move. As did many people that evening. I kept wanting to tell people that I was not suicidal, but I decided to let them do what made them feel helpful, I knew this was all they were trying to do.  The fog sets in again here. I remember Scott sitting on my bed and me asking a lot of questions. I remember the questions making other people uncomfortable. But I am a “rip the band aid off” kind of person. And I wanted all of the facts, because I was only going to imagine worse. I remember pacing. I remember people coming in crying and looking at me with looks of desperation. I remember people staring into my eyes waiting for tears. But I wasn’t sad. I had a boost of adrenaline, stemmed from frustration. I wanted to figure it all out before I let myself cry. I needed to look at the situation objectively and sort it in my head before I let emotions in. Or that’s what my brain told me. And I needed people to stop hugging me. I didn’t want to be touched. I wanted to run. I wanted to get out and move. So I turned to Libby. I remember walking into my dad and asking for permission to leave. He didn’t seem fond of it, but he didn’t tell me no, and frankly right then I was fine with that. I remember going to the church and seeing kids with relation to Bailey or Nick there. Kids of all ages and all walks of life. The strangest combination of kids, all brought together in tragedy. Many of them had no similarities other than the similar pain they were feeling at that moment. So they sat together and wept. I remember people coming to me and I remember feeling embarrassed. That was not my intention of coming. I had not come for people to comfort me or pay attention to me, I had just wanted to see what Bailey and Nick had set in motion. I don’t know why. I spent very little time there and had no real purpose. I felt like I was walking through a graveyard. I wandered around the room of fallen children and hurt for them. I pet on a few, but knew there was little I could do. It was too soon for comfort, and that’s all I knew.  So I left. I remember Libby taking me home and my dear cousin John still sitting in my room waiting. My parents came in to tell me they were going to bed, which I was simply too afraid to do. I knew shutting my eyes would open a dream world of far harsher things than even the reality I was living in. I have always had very vivid and memorable dreams and I feared the worst of nightmares would envelope me if I were to sleep. So I turned to John and asked for a ride. I didn’t tell him where I wanted to go, and he didn’t ask. But we got to the edge of my neighborhood and I instructed him to go left. “Left…?” he asked. “Yes” I answered. I was short with no emotion, and he knew where I wanted to go. He watched me carefully as we approached. This annoyed me at first, but I became very used to being watched over the next few days. I stared out the passenger window, saying nothing, watching the houses turn into pastures as we approached the end of Modaus Road. We came to a four way stop and I looked up. In front of me sat the wreck site, ominous and looming. I had expected tape or even police cars to still be there, but there was nothing. It had been hours after the accident and there job was done. They went home to families and their lives continued. While mine was destroyed. The only thing left to signify that anything had even taken place, was some powder that had been dusted over the road in order to soak up the leaking oil and anti-freeze from the crushed vehicles. I didn’t understand. The wreck didn’t make sense. How had it been so fatal?? What about it made this accident different?? But all the questions to all the right people wouldn’t have given me the answers I wanted. Trust me, I tried. In days following I asked anyone and everyone, everything there was to ask. I practically interrogated fire fighters that had been on the scene, only for them to regretfully say there was little they could tell me. It was just an “accident”. That’s why they call them that. Nothing could have been done, it just happened.  And it didn’t take me long to just accept that. I could spend my entire life asking questions, but what an exhausting existence that would be. I don’t have time to question God, I believe in the things He promises, so I leave it at that. And when people ask me why, or what happened, or who caused the wreck, I reply with that thought process. I don’t know who caused the wreck. I know what was reported, but I don’t know the truth. I wasn’t there. What I do know, is that God has a plan. A very intricate and divine plan. And for some reason, it was Bailey’s time. He knew that from the time He formed her. From the time God saw that my parents were deserving of that angel, He knew that He would take her prematurely. He knew that was to be her life destiny. And if He hadn’t allowed the wreck that night, at that time, He would have seen to His plan regardless. And somehow, some other way, she would have joined Him. I rejoice in the painlessness of my sister’s death. I praise God for not allowing her to fear. I would have never imagined a time in which my thinking would be that morbid, but I am thankful that God spared my sister from suffering. I am thankful He allowed her to live the fullness of her life rather than her receiving an illness and not having the ability to enjoy living as she did. We drove back and forth over the dust, each time I would scan the grass and road for anything. Clues, belongings, but there was nothing. Some glass, which was unsettling, but nothing of value. It did not strike me that day, but since then the wreck site has become a bit of a morbid comfort for me. Most people would avoid such a thing and wouldn’t understand the place of an accident that took someone away being anything but ghastly. And in a way I suppose I understand that. But that place, is where my sister entered Heaven. That was the place where she quietly passed from this earth into a far better existence. That grass ditch on Modaus, that I had passed many times before and it has meant nothing, was my sister’s portal to eternity.  I visit it occasionally, and I made a point for it to be the last place I went before moving to Troy for college. There are two tiny wooden crosses there with their names written in teenage hand writing and white flowers sitting in between. White, a color of purity and youth, and therefore could not be more appropriate to sit amongst the wooden crosses representing the souls of Nick and Bailey. We left the site and travelled on. I don’t remember exactly where we went, or what was talked about. I remember we drove, for a very long time. There was music in the background, country, but it meant nothing to me. I watched cars. I watched them slide along the roads untouched. I watched people in their cars, unaffected. Their lives were completely the same as they had been thirty minutes ago. They were completely unaware of the devastation that had taken place in the community. Or they were far enough removed that it was just news. I was not angry, but I envied these people. I was jealous of their worries and concerns. Jealous that the things on their minds were so insignificant. Things I was worried about just hours ago. Grocery lists, bills, homework, relationship issues, all of these things that run through a mind daily, I longed for their pettiness. John picked me up some food, but it was tasteless. I ate to appease, but left most to be thrown away. And finally, I told him I was ready to go back. I didn’t want to call it home. It didn’t quite feel like a home. But I wanted to sit still, and I wanted my bed, so my house would do. He brought me home and walked me inside. I sat down on my bed and he stood waiting for instruction. I reassured him I would be fine and walked him to the door. He promised to see me the next day, and I locked the front door and turned off the lights. I wandered back to my room and decisively shut her bed room door. I didn’t want to look inside. Today it does not bother me, but that night it seemed so “lived in.” Like it was just waiting for her to come back to it. There were a couple of items of clothes astray on the floor and her back pack and saxophone sitting on her bed from school that day. Just a normal teenage room, unaware that my mother would have to straighten it up since Bailey was not returning. Scared of sleep, I spent hours on Facebook and my cell phone answering concerned texts and regrets through all sorts of media. It was purely amazing the response of this community, and those that had simply heard through the grapevine in other reaches of the United States, but wanted to let us know they felt for us and were sending up prayers. Prayer, is without a doubt the thing that got us through those days. My parents has told me previously they wanted me awake when they told the boys. They had been asleep when the coroner had arrived with Scott and no one had the heart to wake them. Again, I was jealous. They got one more night of peace, before their world was destroyed. At 6:00 A.M I decided to try and sleep. I turned all my lamps on and settled in a bed that suddenly felt too big for me. I wrapped my covers around me in a make shift embrace and stared at the wall waiting for emotion. But it didn’t come, and the next time I opened my eyes, it was morning.

                Saturday, December 3^rd, was easily the worst day of my life. For starters there is that dreadful feeling the morning after something terrible. That feeling of bliss when you first awaken because you have not yet remembered the events of the day before and then that awful gut wrenching ache, when your contentment is mercilessly ripped away from you and you discover you wish you had stayed asleep. My mind woke before my eyes, and the night set in. I was waiting for it. I had woken up and reminded myself not to get my hopes up. I started to process, and then came the most vivid memory I have of those days. I was laying there, eyes still closed, and I heard a sobbing in the main foyer. And it was an awful noise. A mixture of desperation and sorrow. And to this day I don’t know who it was. At first I thought it was my father but I found him in another room when I came in. The person from whom the sound came will always be a mystery to me. But I will never forget the cold chill that it sent. It was miserable. Laying there listening to that sound and knowing that even if I ran to that person right then and grabbed them in my arms, it would do no good. Because I could not fix it for them. And I would have to listen to these sobs for days to come. I would have to watch people weep, and there was absolutely nothing I could do for them. Because I was not her. It was also a jarring reality of, “this is my new life.” This sadness that lurked in my home, was real. This was what I had to wake up to. So with no other resolve, I woke up.  I walked into the kitchen and saw the boys in the study, and upon that went to my parents to question why I was not woken up and they said they thought I needed the sleep. Which would have been true I suppose if I had gotten any.  Saturday is another bit of a blur day. My parents had arranged for the boys to go to a family friends house to play while they worked with the funeral home to make arrangements. It was certainly necessary and had to be done, but that left me alone to take care of the house. And that was the most exhausting task of my life. People were wonderful with their overflow of affection and gifts, but I was tired. And emotionally drained. And people continued to crowd and ask me questions that I didn’t know the answers to. If it wasn’t about a serving spoon it was about funeral arrangements that had not even been made. I had absolutely no information, yet I was the only one with answers. They assumed my parents were busy and too delicate and the boys were obviously no help, so Elise was the death liaison. But I had never done this before! This was as new to me as it was anyone else. So I held it together. I made a ridiculously long list of people that had come by and what they had brought and their numbers that had been left. I put gifts away so that my parents would not come home to a mess. I showed masses of people where our dishes stayed and where our hot pads were stashed. I directed people to family and introduced when needed. And after six hours of this I had reached my limit, and it was visible. A family friend and my grandmother encouraged me to get away, and take a break from the chaos, so once again with John at my disposal, I grabbed his arm and we headed for his truck. Now in all of this I am leaving out a very important part of my life and a person that was behind the scenes texting and calling constantly this entire time as she rushed to my side.  My best friend and absolute other half, Jordan Corlew.  Our relationship is simply indescribable and it would take me this book and five more to try and explain what we do for one another. She decided to attend a school in Texas and because of this was very far away when she discovered the news of my sister. But my best friend being the amazing person she is, jumped on a plane to come home to me skipping an entire week of school to be by my side. That is love. She did everything from handing tissues, to dipping food, to holding my hand. And she was due to arrive around 4:00. Needless to say my life was going to get a little bit better once my other half was back beside me. So after wasting time with my cousin I came home to wait on the arrival of Jo. I stood on the porch, and saw her father’s truck as it turned onto my street. I watched patiently as it rolled to a stop in my driveway. My best friend that I had not seen in months stepped down from the vehicle and walked towards me. It wasn’t a big moment, because coming back together was what we were used to. She fell into place beside me, and it was the most natural feeling in the world. With a quick hug, we turned and walked together into the house. And so began our week of constant companionship.

               The next few days were fairly broadcasted to the public. Many saw the emotions firsthand at the funeral or visitation or any memorial service after. I mainly wrote this excerpt to portray the feelings beforehand. The raw emotions before we were exposed to the masses. The feelings that crept along in the privacy of our home. I am pleased to say that this is certainly only a small portion of my writings. I have big plans for the further pages that are already written and all the pages yet to be touched remaining. I hope to one day compile them into a book, a book on the loss of a sibling. How to move past losing your other half, and how to make yourself feel whole again. I wish there was a step by step process. I wish there was a manual on how to grieve. But there is no such thing. And that is probably the hardest thing for me. The uncertainty of grief. And though I cannot provide that I would love to provide a story. The story that God gave me, which is currently my life. Regardless of how well or how much I write, I will never be able to convey to you the love I had for my sister. The protectiveness I felt for her. The ache our separation leaves me with. But honestly, that is not something I feel I need to prove. My sister, who is now all knowing, completely understands that love. And I am grateful God gave me the opportunity to love her at all. If you are reading this and you did anything in any little way for my family, I want to thank you. Every prayer, card, flower, and meal meant the world to us. Please continue to pray as we have a long way to go. And please watch for more. I will continue to post as the book progresses. Love you all and God bless.