This is the anniversary of the death of my sister.
One year after my Daddy died. Almost to the day. He would’ve never dealt with her death, easily…So…that’s the only thing I can think of that makes his fluke of a death a tiny bit easier to take.
A memory of her:
She was 3 years older than me. Smart, funny and musical like all of my family (save me).
All us kids were tall and fair haired and fair skinned. She was smaller and darker than the rest of us.
One day she was griping and causing a dust-up with me and Harry (younger bro).
I told her to “shut-up, you’re adopted, anyway”
I told her a long, interesting tale about how she was found in a grocery store alone and ‘my’ Daddy brought her home along with the Milk and bread he bought.
I thought no more about it.
But…she did.
Years later, like 3 years later we were fussing about something and all her fears and concern about being ‘adopted’ bubbled up and she went off on me. Enough so Daddy got involved. Oops.
She had worried about it for years. All she had to do was look in the mirror and see.
Daddy had to do some fast talking and swear an oath she was actually his and Mothers biological child.
Well, I got grounded for something I said 3 years past. :smack:
She was still my best friend and confidant. We slept in the same bedroom for years. She knew all my secrets. And kept them.
The day of her funeral I breathed a sigh of relief because my secrets were buried (:))and my Sister was not suffering and in pain anymore.
It was a hard funeral. I was still reeling from Daddy’s death.
It was made a bit easier knowing my Sister was with my Daddy and Mother in whatever ‘heaven’ is.
Very touching. I have 3 sisters, all still living. But my brother died suddenly on Superbowl Sunday 3 years ago. Laid down with his dog for a nap before the game and never woke up. I’ve lost people fast and I’ve lost them slow, and fast is like being hit with a sledgehammer. You walk around in a daze thinking that it can’t really have happened. Losing them slowly gives you a chance to accept what’s coming, and almost be relieved when they’re finally released.
There was always a joke going around that my sister was adopted. As the first child, there were a gazillion snapshots of me. My sister was the second-born, and she found a couple of pictures and a blank baby book with her name in it.
“See! SEE!” she’d say, waving the evidence under everyone’s nose. “This PROVES I was adopted.”
The fact is, I took after Momma’s side of the family. She took after Daddy’s side of the family.
May your memories of your sister give you warm feelings and make you smile.
~VOW
I lost my brother, just this past January. Both parents gone, and neither of us had kids. So I’m the only one left of our family. That’s a weird feeling.
Oh yeah, VOW. Going through my brother’s stuff, I found his baby book. As the second-born, they never made one for me.
There were no baby books in our family. There were just too many of us. I have boxes of photos. Envelopes with photos. Books that you take off the shelf and 3 pix fall out.
Some pictures we have to guess which one of us the baby is.
For some reason I ended up with all these pictures and memorabilia.
My three siblings and I are very close. I’m the youngest. Our parents are dead, and I don’t care how old you are when that happens, it’s hard, and you’re an orphan. I’m terrified I’ll be the last to go despite the lupus, and I don’t think I could handle it, but then again, I don’t want one of them to have to be last.
Beck, I’m sorry you lost your sister way too soon. One of my sisters always HOPED she was adopted. Alas, she looks just like the rest of us.
I’m quite certain you were a blessing to your sister.
There are 7 of us. Would be been 8 but the first born Sister died as an infant.
I’m the very middle of the Seven.
Two sisters and one brother above me. Two sisters and one brother below me.
My sympathies. The pain is always with us, regardless of “moving on”. The utter randomness of these things makes life seem somewhat precarious, especially if it involves a close family member. The “why” is never answered, and the life not lived weighs heavily on all.
Today is the anniversary of my Daddy’s death.
He died of an aneurysm(msp?).
He was elderly but a very active and involved 86yo.
His health was decent/good.
It was the single most absolutely worse thing that has ever happened to me.
It sucker punched me. I swear I didn’t breathe a whole breath for a year. I carried on somehow. The lil’wrekker was in highschool and I stayed engaged in her stuff. But that’s about it.
It shocked me how bad the sadness was. Then my Sister died and I went all the way back down.
I was starting to see sunlight around the dark cloud I lived under and the lil’wrekker left the nest to go to college.
I was never so alone and miserable. One particular day I laid on my bathroom floor all day. I only got up because my glucose was low and I needed to eat. I nearly just let it be and die.
That was a turning point, I believe. I moved into the next grief stage: acceptance.
My Daddy, though. I miss that man everyday. He was Mom and Dad to me. I spoke to him everyday. I consulted him for every decision I made. He was probably my best friend.
I have accepted all this and have tried to move on. I was making some progress. My fears and OCD things were calming down.
If I can manage to exist and not get the virus I think I can pick up where I left off. I hope.
Thank you all for letting vent and get these thoughts out of my head.