My sister would have been 26 years old today, had she lived to see it.
A lot of people would say I was fortunate to have been young and not understood all of it and that I was fortunate to have lost her earlier rather than after having known her for years. People say a lot of stupid stuff because they simply don’t know what to say. Instead of letting you mourn, they try to make it better. Now that I’m older I understand how awkward death makes people feel. It’s uncomfortable. No one wants to deal with it. Especially the sadness. So they try to quietly brush it away. Try to make whatever happened seem like it was for the best. Or it could have been worse.
They’d be wrong though. Loss is loss. It all hurts.
It was my very first childhood trauma, which is unfortunate because they’re some of my very first memories too. I remember mom crying a lot. I remember daddy and I singing to her together and him saying it made her heart beat right. I remember her in her little glass box. Wondering why we couldn’t just take her home in the box if she had to stay in it. She looked like a present all wrapped up in that little box. I thought I could sing to her all the time if it made her better. If that was what would cure her I would sing for the rest of my life, and I was convinced it could.
One day the singing couldn’t fix it. The next day she was just gone.
I may not have known her for years like some, but I knew her for seven days and it was long enough to know I loved her. I recall in my teens being angry at God for never even having a chance to get to know her. Even now, I wonder who she would have become. Would we look similar? Would we fight a lot or hardly at all? Would she have been disabled from her birth defects? What color hair would she have? What color eyes?
Did she know I loved her when she left?