*This is unlike anything I post on here, I just felt like I should write this.*
October 5th, 2025
Today has marked six years since I lost my sister, Laura. I tend to not use her name often, but rather refer to her as my sister, as it takes away some sort of intimacy saying her name would... If that makes any sense. It probably doesn't.
None of this is meant to be over-dramatic or anything... I am just thinking.
Anyways, yeah. It's been six years. Actually I have returned to this a day later. That's okay, I just felt real mawkish (just found out about that word, it's a good one) about speaking about anything. But, I never really do, outside of base level statements. It's an alienating process and feeling, I suppose
Well... OK. Where do I start. I thought about this a lot in the morning yesterday, at work, because where is better to think and think? One memorable thought is how I don't want to use metaphors or any over-description of things, I feel like it would take away from how it really feels. Maybe not. Jesus man... Make up your mind.
Well firstly, I think the most important thing is to honor my sister. She was one of the only close people I had in one of the roughest times of my life thus far. This isn't about me though, I think a lot of people that knew her would say the same. She was selfless, even though she faced her own constant battles (from what I know). I wish I could say I fully got to know her, but I would say it runs in my family to really not be outward about much, rather impassive in a way (till it gets to a point, but even then). But you never can truly know anybody, I am just lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I did. She was almost 20 years older than me, you really would not have thought so. I think the youth she lost in her youth hid away in a certain place in her heart to use for later. She always felt young to me, she was hilarious, and honestly shaped my humor in a way. She was great at makeup, and her hair was always resilient to the amount of bleach and dye jobs she did. Maybe that's a metaphor within itself. She always looked pretty. Oh, and she loved movies. Her DVD collection was insane, her old duplex home had movie posters everywhere. Sin City, Fear and Loathing, The Devils Rejects... just a few I remember from visiting there in my youth, I would always look at the Fear and Loathing poster and get kind of scared (I was a child ok). There's a lot of things I could say, and memories I could state, but I'd be here forever. I like to tell people we would just smoke and watch Trailer Park Boys, or I would watch whatever movie she was watching, or we would sneak out the house and commit various shenanigans together. It made me feel young in a time where I was under intense pressure to not act my age. I love her, I loved her, I will continue to do so. I hope none of what I say embarrasses her in spirit.
When she passed away those 6 years ago, she had been in active addiction for a while. I was there the first two times she overdosed. I reflect on the "death croak" noise a lot. I don't wish for anyone to hear that. I hope in that time she felt comforted at least. I won't speak on those incidents, though, as she is a person, and I would doubt she wants just anybody on here to know about that, she lived through those. On the day it took her away was truly unexpected. She was in group rehab therapy, and seemed to be doing better, outside of her husband (who we will not speak of, my anger toward him is not in retaliation of her death, he just sucked.) being in jail, her best friend of her whole life passing a few months before, and trying to re-navigate life. She still acted the same. And I won't credit that to any coinciding claims about addicts. My mom and I had went to pick up my uncle and cousin from the airport, stopped for food on the way back, and I guess within that time, she had taken her own life.
As time goes by, I question if it was intentional or not, if she was playing roulette to see if she really could survive or not. That question haunts me the older I get. I mean, there was no note or anything, but I guess when you no longer want to live you don't need to explain that to anyone.
I was the first one to walk in. Face down in between the coffee table and couch, I already knew what happened. Well, maybe she was just tired! She's joking! You know. You can make up whatever thought in the 5 seconds it takes to get to the living room. But, she was dead. I didn't want to react too harshly, as my mom was already facing the affliction of knowing her daughter of 30-something years, her first child, was in active addiction. I already witnessed her grieve almost losing her daughter twice, and I never, ever wanted to see my mom in that position. I yelled, everyone ran in, and I immediately dialed 911. We turned her over to see her eyes open and glossy, and her face blue. I already knew it was too late, I didn't want to think that. I had lost my (internet, but regardless) best friend Pat, and Laura's best friend that I had known my whole life. Not that it was about me, it wasn't, that is not selfishness speaking, rather the loss of one too many lovely people in my life. Especially not my sister, especially not then.
After an hour of constant resuscitation, my mom in hysterics in the dining room, and me yelling at staring neighbors outside, they finally announced that she was gone. The cries my mom let out were sickening, I can't even really remember how I felt, just everything around me. My cousin sitting outside to avoid it, the investigator letting out a chuckle for whatever reason, whatever may have been on the TV. It was too late. She was gone somewhere else, and her lifeless body was taken away in a black bag into a CSI truck.
I think afterwards I smoked a lot of weed and attempted to numb myself (hey man, I was 16).
The week after was a blur, I am not sure what day the funeral was, or how long after. It was a good service though. It was an open casket, and I just remember being so mad they did her makeup so bad, I just saw orange foundation in the 2 seconds I looked. I already saw her once, why would I want to see her again if it wasn't with her breathing and alive? I guess everyone looks at those things differently. It ended with a Backstreet Boys song, in honor of the movie "This is the End", a movie she loved. I thought that was real cute. A lot of people showed up, afterwards as well. My moms job catered a bunch of food and people brought so many things. Once again, I can't imagine how my mom felt.
My mom's birthday was 2 days after her death, I forgot to mention.
Six years later, I still think about her daily. I feel so wrong and disrespectful if I don't. I can keep her alive in my own way.
Here is where I actually begin to talk about grief, with all respect and love to her, I hope this isn't too much.
I spent my teenage years in a blur that I can't quite remember. I was in a horribly abusive relationship. That I won't share too much on, outside of how it affected my grieving. I knew I didn't want to be in that situation, but it being my first relationship, him living next to me, and beginning when I was 14 (to put aside typical abuser threats), I didn't know what to do, or how I could leave.
I remember going to school the day after, seeking respite. My friend at the time at school new about it, and I thought getting away would help. I walked to school, and immediately turned around. I couldn't do it. I had lost myself already, and another part of me was gone. I'm not sure what I was even thinking. That being said, that is all I remember. I dropped out a month or so later, confident I wasn't capable of handling it. I spent my time in the counselors office doing my schoolwork. I felt humiliated. My other sister went out of her way to tell people, bringing the upmost unwanted attention. I knew noboody truly cared, they just wanted business to be in. I still feel foolish, and I never tell people why I dropped out, so they probably see me in a way unfit to how I would want to be perceived. Everyone has their reasons. I began at an alternative school, stopped showing up, and COVID hit shortly after (I know man).
I believe I went to a single grief therapy session, and as soon as the therapist suggested group therapy, I stopped. Well, maybe it wasn't affordable either. I'm not sure. I know that I prefer to isolate myself when it comes to visceral experiences, something about talking about those things makes me feel more alone.
My partner at the time told me heinous things. In regards to my sister, he would berate me for "still being upset about it", and even told me she liked him better than me (she didn't, often referring to him as a bum). Looking back, it's comical. At the time, I didn't feel much at all. It had been a few years of that at that point.
Fast forward, 2021, I was actively planning to take my life at 18, reasons due in part to that relationship. Basically, he planned to strip me of what little innocence I had left the day I turned 18. With everything at that time, I felt weak, I felt sick. My jaw was constantly locked from incessant clenching. I was abusing my prescriptions I begged to get. I rarely had a moment alone. I was so far removed from myself. This isn't sidetracking, by the way, it's a process ok! I think these events are important to mention. Obviously, the loss and how it affected me and my family had a huge impact on my perspective, I just had another voice in my ear convincing me farther that there was no point.
The day I finally found myself free, was another incident with cops at my house. All I can say in co-ordinance is that he told my mom "Your dead daughter never loved you" while having her cornered. That struck me with the strength to tell him that he needs to get out. I went years without feeling anything and a few of 2 of those years with no sense of grief. I had to be strong for my mom, I had to pretend to be a "woman" for someone that saw me as much less.
2021- Also a blur honestly. I honestly don't want to keep inserting relationships into this topic, even with the direct effect of being around another person constantly. I'll say that. It has an impact. I did feel for once, that I could act young, years too late.
My "youth" is something I constantly struggle with. I think these scenarios aged me, while also putting me in a place of wanting to be nothing but a child. It is a constant battle.
Now 22, and have been living alone for the past two years, I think I've actually had a chance to sit down with myself. Though I won't claim for a second that I know myself. I admittedly have forced my "maturity" into supporting myself alone. I guess subconsciously it was to prove a point. The first year living alone blessed me with feeling like an adult, having my own space with my kitty babies, and some lovely times with friends.
Here, this year, not so much. I moved somewhere new. I haven't had this much allowance to be and feel alone. I think it's important, that feeling. I think about things more intently, on my morning walks and my forced moments to not distract myself. I have cried about her more than ever, I've realized, well, not much. I guess it's just processing, six years later.
I often guilt myself for it, it's been six years, get over it! It has made me more aware of the fragility of life. The human curiosity of death and whatnot used to interest me a lot more. I guess seeing dead people on the internet is fascinating till you have to see it, and experience it. Those are people, with their lives cut short, and too many people consume it like those lives were something acted out. But it's not. I wont be a hypocrite, I've consumed plenty of true crime in my life, and I love macabre stuff... it's in my blood, OK.
I haven't tormented myself with the what-could-have-been-dones, at the end of the day, it happened. Her life was in her hands. Whether she meant to or she didn't, I hope she got to see the good moments while her life was slipping away. I have thought about maybe being harder on her, but I was 16, I was passively intense about it, because I didn't want to lose her. I didn't want my family to lose her. My mom still posts about her daily, I know she will never be forgotten. At a point, I did want to forget, I wanted to dehumanize her in my mind so I wouldn't have to face the reality. I guess I spent a long time doing that, and I feel wrong for it. I knew she was great, I was blessed to have her as a sister, she taught me to not take things too seriously, just by her being present. We laughed a lot. I miss it, I always will. Laughter always feels different, I don't really laugh in the ways I once did, it's a personal thing. I haven't known a lot of the people I know now very long. It feels different. But doesn't everything? I always think on how time passes by, I wish to get time back, but it will go on. It always will, and that's OK. I'm glad, again, to have known her. Life happens and ends, and that is life. She's missed, and my family and I don't talk about it much. I don't really talk to my family much, anyways. Not in a bad way, we are all our own people. She was her own person! She was a lovely soul, I hope her spirit is okay in my moms old home. When my mom moved a year ago, I'm sure she thought the same. When I moved I said goodbye in the living room, I hope she heard me. She is always here in my mind.
Reflecting on it lately, on top of just everything in life, it's been getting to me heavily. Once again, I don't really talk about this at all. I like to keep it to myself. But i feel like that is dishonor, to dehumanize her in that way. Everything happens differently for everyone. It's alienating. If you read this.. uhmmm.. I don't know. I'm not sure what I am trying to gain from uploading this. It's a self serving thing. Maybe. Thanks for reading anyway. Pretend like this is made up.
-IONA
