There are two losses here. There is the loss of my sister’s life, the fact that she’s no longer in this world. And then there’s the loss of something else, something indefinable, but it’s gone. And it’s that loss that’s harder for me to bear than the other.
Somehow losing A. has made it possible for me to distinguish between the person she was and the person she became. I’m glad for that. I have always loved her, and I always will. But I loathed the person she became, while cherishing the person she was. She hungered for love, but always turned away from it when it was there. Her last boyfriend, J., is a loving, kind man. I told him yesterday that he is adopted into our family. I’m so sorry that A. couldn’t light the darkness within her and allow J. to love her and to freely love him. For she did love him, that I know.
During the time that A. was living with me and Joe, the subject somehow came up of toys. I remarked, as I often have, that I always wanted an Easy-Bake oven, and never got one. One day she came home with an Easy-Bake oven for me. We gleefully baked all the mixes that came with the oven, and ate everything, and had a delightful time. I later gave it away to a charity, so that some other little girl who always wanted an Easy Bake Oven could get one and enjoy it. That’s the kind of sweet thing that A. Would do.
Our whole family is seriously messed up. Yet some of us persist and pull through the crap to live a decent life. Others don’t. What makes the difference? It’s not worth–I believe that each human life is of the same intrinsic value. It’s not strength–A., for example, had a lot of strength that was misapplied. I don’t know.
I always thought there would be time. I thought that one day A. would wake up and realize that she had trashed her life, get tired of it, and do something about it. But the time is gone. At least, earthly time. I do believe that she is still in existence, and believe that she has a chance now to make something of herself. She never fit into this world. Liz said that she was “born broken.” That’s probably the best way to put it. A. seemed to think that she had to walk in the path of her birth mother, like a fate she could not escape.
I know these questions have no answers, but I can’t help asking them. Did we do enough? What could we have done differently? Does she know that we love her, no matter what?
That’s what I’ve been praying for. I’ve begged Heavenly Father to make sure she knows that I love her, that I always have and always will.
I want to write a letter to the P. Family and express my sorrow for their loss. I also want to write the police officer who shot my sister, and tell him that I have no anger for him; he was doing his job, and did what he had to do. I’m sorry that he had to do it, for his sake, but it had to be done.
I’m so grateful for our friends who have reached out with love and compassion, reserving any judgment. They help us all get through this. I get sick every time I hear the telephone ring, but I’m hopeful that the worst of it is over, and now we can begin to heal.
