It’s my sister’s birthday. She would’ve been 20. I miss her so much. People say it’s supposed to get easier, a loved one being dead, but I have my doubts. It just seems to be getting harder. Maybe I haven’t really dealt with it yet. I don’t know. I just know she’s gone and there’s an empty space in my chest and I just want her back. I keep dreaming about her, and it’s so nice, but then I wake up and I just miss her more. The dreams are comforting and make things worse at the same time.

I had to go to work for 7 hours. That place gets worse every day. I feel like it’s eating me alive. I can’t handle it much longer, but I need a job and no where else is hiring. Money is tight, for me and my mom. She can’t find a job either, and as long as I’m not in school, I have to pay on my student loan. There’s so much stress, with the bullshit going on at work, then worrying about paying all the bills and how much money I owe.

22 and I think I’m having a break down. Someone help me.

This is a letter that was written by my mother, to Tom Hedderson, the Minster of Transportation here in Newfoundland. It was published in the Clarenville Packet today, December 1st, 2011.

Dear Mr. Hedderson,

I am Crystal Adams. My daughter Denika was killed in a moose vehicle accident on April 29, 2010, near the Avondale overpass. Denika was just 18 years of age and two weeks shy of her grade 12 grad. Denika was a well-loved young lady, not only by her peers but also by everyone that meet her.

Denika had so many dreams that she wanted to fulfill, but her life ended way too early because of a moose that was on the highway for a period of two or three nights.

It is bad enough to lose my daughter, but to then find out that the accident could have been avoided if something was done to get these nuisance moose off the highway.

What I am emailing you about now is the fear that I now have of driving on our highways once the sun goes down.

Whenever I hear about another moose accident it brings back all the memories of losing my daughter all over again.

I get weak all over fearing that someone else is going to have to go through what I have in the past 19 months. It’s like it’s all happening all over again.

Let me take a moment to tell you about the most wonderful person in the world. Just indulge me, I swear this won’t take long.

That person is my sister. Well, was my sister. She died about a year ago. You can save your condolences and sympathies, it’s okay. Please don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just I’ve heard enough of them, you know?

Anyway, where was I. My sister’s name was Denika. Denika Lynn Adams. That’s pronounced duh-nee-ka. Not Danica. She was born on February 8th, 1992. I was 2 years and two months old at the time. Though I can’t remember it, my mom says that I was excited to have a little sister. She said I couldn’t wait.

I don’t remember much about the early years, other than what I’ve been told. I wasn’t all that old myself. I’ve seen pictures too, like the one where she first learned how to walk, and looks intoxicated. There’s also the one of my first day of Kindergarten where she cried so hard that I was leaving. She only stopped when Mom let her wear my glasses and gave her a pack of cookies. She’s so teary eyed, its enough to break your heart.

Then there’s the times I do remember. Like when we both got in trouble for taking apart Mom’s Alan Jackson tape because she wouldn’t admit to doing it, even though I had no idea it had happened. Or the time we snuck up to the playground with our cousin and got busted on the way home. I remember when she fell off her bike and split her head open—twice. The first time required stitches, the second did not. I remember when I told her that she was a “really big accident” and she cried to break her heart. I remember cuddling and falling asleep with her every single Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember.

She gave the best hugs. She had the best laugh. Her smile was huge, and so was her love. She was there for me, always. And I was there for her. We were total opposites, in appearance and personality, but we always, always had each other’s backs. She was my sister. I’m not going to lie and say we were inseparable. I’m not going to say we were best friends, and that we always got along. We didn’t. We fought more than we got along. But doesn’t mean we didn’t love each other. Fighting is what sisters do.

Her favourite colour was pink. She loved Winnie the Pooh. She liked the kind of music that I couldn’t stand (which she also liked to play too loud), and she didn’t like to read. She didn’t like it when I played with her hair, which really sucked because she had really pretty, soft hair. She was always cracking jokes and playing pranks. She was young and beautiful, and finally, at last, happy. She didn’t deserve to die. She had her entire future in her hands. She could have been anything. She could’ve been everything. But instead she’s gone, and we’ll never know.

There are too many things that’ll never happen. These are the ones that are the most important to me though, the ones that grip my heart like a vice. I’ll never see her graduate. She would have two weeks after she died. I’ll never see her get married and I’ll never meet her children. She won’t be at my wedding, and she’ll never met my children. My children will never know their aunt. I’ll never be an aunt. I’ll never hear her laugh again, and I’ll never hug her again. I’ll never snuggle with her on Christmas Eve again. I’ll never get another birthday card from her. And most importantly of all, I’ll never hear her voice again, and she’ll never tell me she loves me again. It’s not fair. It’ll never be fair.

I miss her every day. I miss her with every part of my heart and soul, every single part of me. They say that time heals, and it’ll hurt less. I’m still waiting for that to happen.