***There won ‘t be anything fancy about this week’s blog post. There won’t be anything about style, mental illness, or being human in a grand universe. In fact, for my usual readers, you don’t even have to read this post… but here goes nothing.

This is a letter for my cousin, Curtis.

Curtis, whenever you’re willing and able to read this…. today marks one month since me, Jen, and grandmom visited you in the hospital. (Dan was there too!)

Two weeks prior to the 4th of July, I woke up to the news that you were in a terrible car accident. I automatically started to cry and ran downstairs to find my mom crying on the phone with your mom. It felt like my whole world was turning upside down as I was listening to the phone conversation, “is there any brain damage? was there any damage on his neck or spine?”, I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Curtis hasn’t woken up since impact. He’s been in a coma for 2 weeks straight now. His side of the car was totaled. A helicopter had to come and deliver him to the hospital. He has facial fractures, broken bones, and his brain is extremely swollen. The nurses couldn’t even look at him.  The doctors couldn’t even operate on him right away because his vitals were too low. 

That’s some shit you would hear in a movie. But there I was, hearing it all in real life. We had a vacation planned. We were supposed to see each other in less than 2 weeks. We were going to have our own shore house, go to the beach together, and eat some delicious BBQ. How did everything seem to fall apart in a matter of seconds??????

We decided that instead of going to the beach, we would spend those few days in Chicago to see you. In the days leading up to our departure, every single conversation in the family group chat was about you. “Has he woken up yet? Any signs of movement? Surgeries? MRI results?” I spent every day and night, praying that you would wake up- that everything would be okay. Because I couldn’t lose you. Not you, not my baby cousin. About 3 days before we arrived, we received news that there was slight movement whenever the nurses tried to bath you. The day before our flight to Chicago, we received news that you were awake… but you didn’t remember anything.

Upon landing and settling inside the hotel, your dad (my uncle) picked us up and drove us straight to the hospital. While uncle, Jen, and Dan stayed behind to walk with grandmom, I sped ahead to find your hospital room. All I wanted to do was see you. Uncle was shouting directions from behind me so I knew which hallway to turn down or which desk to round.  But as soon as I reached the curtain to your room, I froze.

“You’ve never seen someone in a hospital before?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re in for a surprise. It’s not a pretty sight.”

All I wanted to do was see you… but in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away. I stood there for such a long time that everyone eventually caught up to me, uncle put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me through the curtains.

You were awake but you were not there. You were thrashing around your right arm and leg. There were so many tubes and machines hooked up to you… and there was this strange odor. I was about to gasp but grandmom beat me to it..

“Oh my poor (insert your Chinese name here)!  I’m here now, Grandmom is here now! Do you remember me?  Do you know who I am? Please get better. You have to get better quickly so that we can go on vacation again! I promise, I’ll even buy you a plane ticket to Philly ! Look, your cousins are here. Even your cousin’s fiance is here! Everyone is here for you now!”

Jen and I shared a quick glance as grandmom was crying over your bedside because we all know that once she starts crying, everyone starts crying. From that point on, we spent every day in the hospital with you before it was time for us to leave. On the 4th of July, I sat by the window sill and watched fireworks that someone or family had lit. I remember feeling bitter. Because if your friend wasn’t speeding then we would’ve been together on the beach, watching some fireworks that we lit together.

It crushed me. We always joked around saying that you were a prodigy child because you could play the saxophone and piano by ear. Let’s not forget about your drawings. You ARE so talented Curtis and I know you’re an only child but you were always like a little brother to me. I call you “baby cousin” all of the time because for the first time in forever, I’m not the youngest in the family! (and I don’t care if you’re only 2 years younger than me, you’ll always be a baby in my eyes.)

Listen, I don’t care if  you can never play an instrument again. I don’t care if you can never draw a portrait. You’re alive Curtis and you’re already making so much progress. Just the other day, my mom sent me a video of you humming to a Bruno Mars song. You’re insane dude!!! In our last conversation that we had with each other, before the accident, you said that we would see each other soon. We’re going to keep visiting you Curtis… and hopefully one day, you’ll be able to really see us.

When I was sitting by your bedside, holding your hand, you squeezed my hand. It meant so much to me that I kissed your fingers. When I began to lose hope, my mom sent us a video of you saying “Hi, Jen…..Hi, Jess…..” It meant so much to me that despite the fact that I was eating dinner, I cried.

I know that you can push through this and I hope that one day, you’ll  read this letter. I love you more than the stars, Curtis.

Xo,

Jessica