“I am breathing through an ache in my chest that feels like it will split me open. The term “sucking wound” comes to mind as many breaths are gasping, struggling, wet with tears. It feels like there is a gaping hole in my chest.” ~Oriah~
In the TV series Lie To Me the doctor mentions that the best way to get the truth from people is to put them in extreme pain. That’s why torture is such an effective tactic. When you’re hurting, you’ve only got enough room for the pain and the truth.
It hurts. It hurts in a way I didn’t expect it to, and if I’m honest, in a way that it shouldn’t have to.
I’ve got very unique relationships with each of my 6 siblings. I love them all equally, but what I share with each of them is worlds apart. She was the oldest, I’ve always (until recently) been the youngest. She came first, I came last. I loved how she never treated me like the kid, she was the only one in the whole group who didn’t treat me like I was built to break or fragile. When I was with her, I always felt like we were the only sane ones in the whole wild bunch. We’d sit together in bed on many nights, discussing the dynamics of our siblings. The one tries too hard, the other one drinks too much, the other one sucks up, the other one uses money to gain our fathers love. We’d sit and laugh about it together, in our own private moments. She would tell me about what pissed her off that we did, she was never a fighter so she’d never say it out loud. I laugh when I remember how we used to be entertained by the women that came in and out of our father’s life. There were the possessive ones, the crazy ones, the spiritual ones and the ones who would use us to gain favour with our dad.
Outside of that though, we were always very different. Different in the sense that she never felt the need to get people to like her, I on the other hand, always tried too hard to be everyone’s best friend. She never had anything to prove, if she wasn’t your cup of tea, you’d just have to get over yourself.
I remember the day I drove over someone with my car. The scariest, craziest moment of my life! I couldn’t call my dad or anyone else but I decided to call her. As always, she was calm and like a soldier, she handled it. She went to the family, gave the ‘victim’ medication, and when they tried to blackmail me, my dear sister told her where the hell to get off.
There’s another occasion, way back in high-school when I was in trouble and my dad was ready to have my head on a plate. I knew I was wrong, but she didn’t for a second make me feel bad about it, she had my back like any big sister would.
My sister wasn’t a woman of many words, she had a dry sense of humour and she was quite content in the silent moments. I liked that.
The last time I saw my sister was just after Christmas. I went to her brand new house, we sat drinking Coke and eating Choice Assorted biscuits. Nothing about it felt final. The beautiful thing about death is that it takes away all of the things that aren’t real. Only love and pain remain.
Today the pain is most certainly like a gaping hole in my chest. Oriah says it more eloquently than me when she says: Grief is as kind as it can be, coming in waves instead of all at once- surely a flood that would drown. It’s hard to predict when the next wave will hit. I miscalculate and have to abandon a shopping cart in the middle of the cereal aisle at the supermarket to dash for home and lay down on the cool white tiles of the bathroom floor.
I miss you, but I can still feel your spirit so near to me. We shared something that not even death can take away. Rest in peace Big Sister, you are and will always be a part of me.
Love Always,
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