Only A Memory Away
Jul. 20th, 2002 08:14 pmSix years ago today-- on a Saturday, too, in fact, I got the worst news a ten year old could receive in her life. My half-sister Michelle died six years ago, and it changed who I was forever. I'm a different person because of it-- for better or for worse, and for the first time in all that time, I went to the place where she died.
It's called Land's End, and is basically a rounded cliffside that drops-- over 200 feet-- right into the Pacific Ocean. When Michelle died, it was shocking... unexpected, to say the least. She might have only been my half-sister, but she meant the world to me, and I had a hard time expressing it, because I was so childish. Like all people who lose someone, I had a million and one regrets-- things I wish I could have said, or could have taken back. I wish I could have apologized for that stupid argument the night before, wished I could have thanked her for all she'd ever done for me, and told her, above all, that I loved her.
Six years later, I'm still sad, but I guess the need to hide my sadness and loneliness isn't so great. My sister was the only one I could relate to about a lot of things, was the only one I could talk to when I had problems with boys, or mom, or my own friends. My mom didn't understand any of that.
When Michelle died, I felt the need to be strong for my mom-- not show any weakness. People passed by us, offering their apologies and condolences, but it all seemed so empty then. I kind of get irritated even now, when people get nervous just *asking* me about my sister, or when they do find out about her dying, say "sorry," as if it were their fault. I suppose it's only natural to react that way, since people who haven't experienced loss at such a young age (Michelle was only 19) don't know what to say-- they couldn't have known how it felt.
Over the years, there's a lot of things I wish I could talk to Michelle about... things I wish I could simply ask her, or maybe tell her. It tears at my conscience to try and imagine her voice in my head, and not come up with anything solid. All I have are memories, and they mean so much to me, good and bad alike.
When my sister died, there only seemed to be two people in my life who cared that *I* had lost someone too- my dad and my then-crush/boyfriend (if you can call it that in 5th grade, but that's another story), Chris. Chris is probably in Santa Cruz right now, doesn't even remember what DAY this is-- and we parted on bad terms, so I can't expect anything on his end. But I do kind of wish, even with all the hostility between my father and I that he would have called me today.
Even if he doesn't, in the last forty-five minutes there are LEFT of this day, I know that I take comfort in at least knowing that I *have* a father, whether he talks to me, thinks about me, cares about me at all, or not. I hope that he does call me one day-- or maybe write.
I know my sister didn't like him much-- even convinced me several times that my father was a downright bad person-- but now that both of them are out of my life, and Michelle is gone on a permanent basis, I can't help but want to talk to my father. If something happened to him, I'd still feel loss... regardless of us not talking in so long.
I'm glad my boyfriend was with me today. I found myself apologizing and saying thank you more times than I thought I would, and I especially thought he'd be uncomfortable with the whole idea of being with me on a day that held significance only for my mother and myself. We took a long walk all the way past the beach to Land's End, and just sat there for a while. I'm not ashamed anymore to say that I cried... I missed my sister, was angry at the world for taking her away from me, and was angry at myself for not saying what I should have that day six years ago. But the one thing that stays in my mind-- all this time-- is that you never know how much someone means to you until they are gone.
People hear that all the time, and never take it seriously enough. But it's true. People may lose grandparents, or distant relatives who die of old age, but when someone as young and close to you as a sister is suddenly *ripped* from your life, it's a greater shock than anyone can imagine. I told my boyfriend to go home today and tell his sister that he loved her. Even if she was mad, even if it didn't sound like he meant it, it would matter to her-- it would COUNT, in the end, regardless of how many days, weeks, months, or years passed between him saying that and the inevitability of death. 'It's the thought that counts' has never had more significance than now. So, unlike my other rant-like entries, I ask you, dear reader-- go home today-- or if you are home, leave this page, get up, and find a family member. Be it a mother, father, sister, brother, cousin, aunt, uncle... anyone. Walk up to them, hug them as tight as the both of you can stand, and tell them you love them. There doesn't need to be any celebration, or any explanation. But just telling them will make the day a bit brighter... even if it doesn't seem that way.
It's called Land's End, and is basically a rounded cliffside that drops-- over 200 feet-- right into the Pacific Ocean. When Michelle died, it was shocking... unexpected, to say the least. She might have only been my half-sister, but she meant the world to me, and I had a hard time expressing it, because I was so childish. Like all people who lose someone, I had a million and one regrets-- things I wish I could have said, or could have taken back. I wish I could have apologized for that stupid argument the night before, wished I could have thanked her for all she'd ever done for me, and told her, above all, that I loved her.
Six years later, I'm still sad, but I guess the need to hide my sadness and loneliness isn't so great. My sister was the only one I could relate to about a lot of things, was the only one I could talk to when I had problems with boys, or mom, or my own friends. My mom didn't understand any of that.
When Michelle died, I felt the need to be strong for my mom-- not show any weakness. People passed by us, offering their apologies and condolences, but it all seemed so empty then. I kind of get irritated even now, when people get nervous just *asking* me about my sister, or when they do find out about her dying, say "sorry," as if it were their fault. I suppose it's only natural to react that way, since people who haven't experienced loss at such a young age (Michelle was only 19) don't know what to say-- they couldn't have known how it felt.
Over the years, there's a lot of things I wish I could talk to Michelle about... things I wish I could simply ask her, or maybe tell her. It tears at my conscience to try and imagine her voice in my head, and not come up with anything solid. All I have are memories, and they mean so much to me, good and bad alike.
When my sister died, there only seemed to be two people in my life who cared that *I* had lost someone too- my dad and my then-crush/boyfriend (if you can call it that in 5th grade, but that's another story), Chris. Chris is probably in Santa Cruz right now, doesn't even remember what DAY this is-- and we parted on bad terms, so I can't expect anything on his end. But I do kind of wish, even with all the hostility between my father and I that he would have called me today.
Even if he doesn't, in the last forty-five minutes there are LEFT of this day, I know that I take comfort in at least knowing that I *have* a father, whether he talks to me, thinks about me, cares about me at all, or not. I hope that he does call me one day-- or maybe write.
I know my sister didn't like him much-- even convinced me several times that my father was a downright bad person-- but now that both of them are out of my life, and Michelle is gone on a permanent basis, I can't help but want to talk to my father. If something happened to him, I'd still feel loss... regardless of us not talking in so long.
I'm glad my boyfriend was with me today. I found myself apologizing and saying thank you more times than I thought I would, and I especially thought he'd be uncomfortable with the whole idea of being with me on a day that held significance only for my mother and myself. We took a long walk all the way past the beach to Land's End, and just sat there for a while. I'm not ashamed anymore to say that I cried... I missed my sister, was angry at the world for taking her away from me, and was angry at myself for not saying what I should have that day six years ago. But the one thing that stays in my mind-- all this time-- is that you never know how much someone means to you until they are gone.
People hear that all the time, and never take it seriously enough. But it's true. People may lose grandparents, or distant relatives who die of old age, but when someone as young and close to you as a sister is suddenly *ripped* from your life, it's a greater shock than anyone can imagine. I told my boyfriend to go home today and tell his sister that he loved her. Even if she was mad, even if it didn't sound like he meant it, it would matter to her-- it would COUNT, in the end, regardless of how many days, weeks, months, or years passed between him saying that and the inevitability of death. 'It's the thought that counts' has never had more significance than now. So, unlike my other rant-like entries, I ask you, dear reader-- go home today-- or if you are home, leave this page, get up, and find a family member. Be it a mother, father, sister, brother, cousin, aunt, uncle... anyone. Walk up to them, hug them as tight as the both of you can stand, and tell them you love them. There doesn't need to be any celebration, or any explanation. But just telling them will make the day a bit brighter... even if it doesn't seem that way.