I choose you, Pikachu!

Hoping this will be cathartic.

Today makes exactly 6 months since my older sister died, and I have no idea what to do with myself. I suck at expressing when I’m upset, and the usually the only way you can tell is if I’m quieter than usual. If I try to talk about it, there’s almost a mental block, and I’m so overwhelmed I end up going numb. Since I can’t seem to get myself to say anything verbally, I’m using this post as a letter to her, to say all the things I wish I could say to her now. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Dear Bridget,

It’s been half a year already since you’ve been here. It doesn’t seem real. Sometimes I catch myself thinking “Oh she’s at work” or “She must be off with mom somewhere” and there are a lot of times when I can’t handle the fact that you’re not here anymore. Remember when we were little, and I was always put in charge of watching over you? Cooking you meals, putting on Disney movies and singing all of the songs with you, letting you watch me play video games and occasionally letting you have a try. Everyone else in our family was too busy with school or work, so there were a lot of weekends and sometimes weekdays when it would be just you and me. I’ll admit, there were times when I resented it. It seemed like while I was playing the adult role early on, my friends my age were having sleepovers, going to the mall, getting ice cream after school, those types of things. I didn’t have much of a childhood as a result. But you know what? I wish it didn’t take your death for me to fully understand it, but I really am thankful for those experiences. They’ve prepared me a lot for living on my own at school, and handling difficult situations.  Whenever you made arts and crafts or won something in a raffle at St. Ann’s, you’d give it to me.  I still have all of the paintings you made for me in a binder, remembering the bright smile you’d have whenever you presented me with one. I even still have the teddy bear you gave me about a month before you died. I know that you were cognitively disabled and didn’t understand some things, but… a question that has been eating at me is, since you were making things for me and giving me gifts in the months before, did you have the feeling that you didn’t have much longer? Before that, you would keep everything you made and won, and proudly display them in your bedroom. But you gave these to me instead. Maybe it’s my own paranoid thinking, but part of me still wonders that. Still… you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. The doctors told us that at any given moment you were having some type of seizure, whether it was visible or not. And yet you still smiled and laughed, watched movies with me, going to the mall and out to lunch with our dad. You didn’t let it hold you back. It wasn’t until the night before you died when you finally admitted that you didn’t like being disabled, and that the seizures were scary for you. Colin told me that when he put you to bed that night, you reassured him by telling him that you were going to be brave. And you told our mom that a big seizure was going to happen that night and take your life. Were you scared? It hurts me to imagine. I regret to this day that you were alone.  Your bedroom was directly next to mine, but I didn’t hear you. If I did, would you still be alive today? I saved your life from one of those major seizures before. Could I have done it again? I suppose it’s unhealthy to dwell on that, but I can’t help it. The last thing I wanted to tell you is, I’m proud to have had you as my older sister. Your bravery and optimism inspires me, and I hope I can get there myself someday. I will always love you.

Your little sister,

Emily