A dear friend shared with me that Ari’s last day on earth was the last day of summer,
Thursday, September 22. Ari loved summer so it was only fitting that her last moments were on a day that would end her definition of bliss. This post is dedicated to my friend who shared this. Lauren Lubrano, thank you. 

September 23, 2016. There were people everywhere. People in my house, in my back yard, on my front lawn, on my neighbor’s front lawn. We had a police escort (Thank-you) at my house. It was just complete chaos. I’ll never forget my dad speaking the words, “I can’t believe I have to bury my baby”. I felt like somebody was squeezing my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. “Where am I? Is this real?” I couldn’t get a grip on reality. 

I don’t know if anybody remembers, but it rained for days. There was literally no sunlight. I remember turning to my best friend as I’m looking out the window and asked her, “Do you think Ari is sad for us? It just keeps raining”.  On the nights that it didn’t rain, my mom wanted people to sit outside around a fire. My best friend and her husband brought over a little chimenea that my mom requested. On those nights, I thought about killing myself. I absolutely could not deal with what was going on around me. 

My favorite season became so cold and dark so quickly. Not only was I depressed, the “coldness” only made the next couple of weeks even worse. While battling these feelings and thoughts, I had to be the strong one.  Do you know what it’s like having to pick out clothes for your sibling to wear in a casket? My mom wasn’t able to do it, I had to. I had to pick proper undergarments. I had to pick a bra, underwear, right down to her shoes. It made me sick to my stomach. For those of you who knew Ari, you knew she had a lot of clothes, some still unworn. I picked out a dress that still had tags on it, that seemed to be the most suitable. I wanted to throw up. 

After her
clothes were picked out, I had to go to the funeral home to view her body. Now, for those of you who have experience death before, you know that when you go to a funeral, the individual looks different then the last time you saw them. I was scared. I could vividly remember my last memory of her, and now, that was about to be destroyed forever. As I entered the somber room, I walked up to my sister. She had scars on her face, her nails were missing, her face was swollen, her nose was broken. There goes my stomach turning again. 

Imagine my
mother going up to her child and pinpointing every scar on her lifeless body, lying in a casket. “I know your face baby, you didn’t have those scars before.” These words were like nails on a chalkboard, scarring me, as I began to experience the worst day of my life. 

Every night after this day, for three hundred and sixty-five days, I would close my eyes before going to sleep only to see those images. Seeing flashes of her nails being ripped off, the scars on her arms. These images stayed and still stay in my mind. I imagined the night that she died. Did she scream? Did she say, “Omg I’m about to die”? I will never know. These were the thoughts running in my head every single night before going to bed, and every single morning as I would wake up to face another day, without her.

Later that
week, I had to go find a dress to wear on the day of my sister’s funeral. Ari wasn’t someone who just “threw on” an outfit and left the house, she dressed to impress. I always admired her for that even though it took her forever to get ready, she put on. So, my best friends took me out to search for the right dress, one that would fit the occasion and help me pay my respects to my beautiful fashionista. I was tired of looking and I was becoming very frustrated of having to do something that I didn’t even want to do in the first place.

I knew a local
designer that I consider to be a friend, not only is she a very talented designer but she is also an amazing person because of the most gracious act of kindness she did for me. I reached out to a couple of my friends in hopes that I could get in touch with this designer.  I wanted to reach out to her because I needed to wear something that no one had, a dress that would fit this melancholy event. This wonderful designer’s name is Latasha Hall. Thank you, Tasha. 

Again, on another rainy day, my girlfriends and I set out to find this dress. I went to Latasha’s office, she had a handful of dresses and I just kept trying them on until I found the right one. This was like finding a wedding dress, but it wasn’t for a wedding. I was trying on a dress to wear so that I could properly say goodbye to my sister. I found that dress, and when I did tears immediately started running down my face, and I began to sob. I just couldn’t believe that this was my reality. But thanks to Latasha, I was able to wear a beautiful dress. 

September 30th, 2016, the day of the funeral. Ariana would never be able to be my maid of honor, but I was her’s that day. The service was beautiful, just how I imagined it to be. People who have never experienced a celebration of life came up to me and said that they were at peace. I thank my Pastor Danny Scotton for that. Police escorts, people from the community all came to pay their respects. She is truly loved. I’m just sad that September and every September for the rest of my life will feel so cold.