Sometimes Goodbye is A Second Chance

“My eyes are open wide, …and by the way I made it through the day.”

“The girls.” “My girls.” “The sisters.” Those “[insert family name]” girls. “M and B’s daughters.” “J’s sisters”….etc;

But now, she is dead.

My sister and I were close. Very close. So close, in fact that it had been said that you would “never see one without the other.” We were always spoken of in singular terms; as if we were one and the same; or at the very least…somehow joined “at the hip”.

Although I was?/am? (still not sure which term to use now) the eldest; it always felt as if there were no age differences between us. We were the ultimate complement to each other. When we grew into adulthood, we left the family home, and moved into an apartment together… In fact, lived together for five years. It was a fabulous five years, filled with fun and happiness. We only split because I got married; leaving her to live alone by herself. But we were still “the girls”. When I married, my new husband fit right in, and although we lived separate lives, the three of us often traveled and did things together.

As time passed, (8 years) I added a new baby to the mix. He also fit right in. In fact, she bought a car seat to have in her car at all times. She loved that child. She seemed happy enough, but now I begin to wonder. She had lots of friends, everyone loved her, and she seemed to be everything; a one all-inclusive package: Successful, self-sufficient, well-traveled…You know?

After she died, I started to wonder just how much each of our identities were tied in with that of the other. She and I were part of a matched set. While I had my husband and child to go home to each evening , I often still wonder what she really felt when she went home alone. Because of her being single, she was able to spend lots of time with my parents; and as a result she became extremely close to them; and they to her. When she died, she left them with a void so huge, that I doubt will ever be filled in this lifetime. As I fumble around and try to do many of the things that she seemed to do effortlessly; this leaves me feeling inadequate; and feeling somewhat like the “spare” daughter.

“Tell my mother, tell my father…I’ve done the best I can”

“The girls.” “My girls.” “The sisters.” “Those girls.” “M and B’s daughters”…

And so now the question left to be answered is this:

“Without my sister, who the hell am I now!!?”

“I’m not angry, I’m just saying…Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
“Here is my chance…This is my chance!”

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