Please, Ask Me About My Dead Sister
Do you have any siblings?
I want you to ask me — so I can tell you this:
Yes, I have an older sister. And she died.
I don’t yearn for sympathy. I’m not looking for a hurried “I’m so sorry,” or a quick shift in conversation. Don’t mistake my visible pain for discomfort. I’m looking to you for empathy, recognition, and curiosity.
Let me tell you about my older sister. My only sister. The one who died the same age I am now. She wasn’t supposed to leave me so soon. We were supposed to grow old together.
Let me tell you about her, because as long as you let me, her life and death stay real.
She was here, living and breathing. So please, let me talk about her. Ask the uncomfortable questions – how, when, why. You want to know, and I want to tell you.
I want to share a piece of me with you.
I tell you my sister is dead because I’m looking for a connection. Because I carry her with me—in my heart, in my gut, every day.
Her loss has become part of me.
I don’t want the world to forget her. How important she was.
Please, let me tell you about her—how much we looked and sounded alike, how we loved the same music and food, how we were different in all the best ways.
I want to tell you about the little quirks that made her hilarious. What made people love her. The ways she was unique. I want you to see her as a person. Not just another statistic. I want you to feel like by knowing me, you know her.
If I start to tear up, don’t change the conversation or guide me somewhere safer. Instead, tell me how sorry you are. Not because I need pity, but because you understand what love like that would cost you. Tell me about your siblings, and how it would break you if anything ever happened to them.
If you knew my sister, you’d have thought she was funny. Witty. Intelligent. Strong. You’d have wanted to be around her.
Please let me tell you about my sister. In a small way, it makes me feel like she’s still here.
I’m okay telling you my sister is dead. I’m not okay with feeling like she’s gone.
