Chain Of Tears

Anna To Kit

Dear Kit,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I never say that. I know you know I never say that. I never feel it, never feel like I have enough regret to feel sorry. But I am sorry. Sorry I couldn't save you. Sorry I will never be you. I'm so sorry, Kit, I'm so sorry. You were so easy to love, and so hard to lose. And everyone keeps coming and telling me, "Oh, he was so smart, what a tragedy to lose him," as if you are a tool for their use. You would have been so overwhelmed by all the compliments, you would have just disappeared in a corner with Henry or the Merry Thieves. But you aren't here, and even though you were never loud, your absence feels like an impenetrable silence. 

I miss you so much. We all do, so much that we can't even talk about it. Ma gave me your spectacles, the frame slightly broken, blood on the edges. I sobbed into her arms for the first time in years, and she held me. All it made me think of was that you will never be hugged by her ever again, and I cried even more. I'm so so sorry Kit. my baby brother. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to save you. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to have you here, with us.

I don't know why I'm writing this, it will only end up in the fire anyway. But if you're there, anyway, and if even a scrap of this sheet reaches you, somehow, I hope this part does. You were always smart, but you were more. You were one of the kindest people I've known. You knew so much more than they gave you credit for. You were caring and helpful and accepting. You were smart and good at science, but more than that, you were wise. You noticed things in parties and social settings that even Matthew and I didn't. You were always the best of us, the kindest. I will always miss you,

I thought it would be easier to miss you when I was far away, in India, but it was just as hard. I see you in the engineers building Mumbai, I see you in the ancient texts I cannot understand, I see you in the Swadeshi movement and I see you in Kriti, my daughter. She likes science and she wants to be a scientist, just like you. She wants to go to a University that hasn't even been built yet. It would be India's first University for girls. She has big dreams for an eight year old, and I am so proud of her.

Ari and I couldn't really adopt legally, but there are so many little orphan children roaming the street, they have been displacement, their parents lost or left. I saw Kriti walking on the street one day, she was starved and her clothes were tearing, but she did not beg. She crept around, searching for food in wastepaper-bins, like Church. She spoke perfect English, with a strong Bombay accent, a mundane with the Sight. She told Ari her parents had been rich and she was educated, at least slightly, before one of the British had threw them out on the streets. Her family had starved, but she had somehow survived. She was wary of me, as expected, but warmed up when Ari told her. She is quiet and strong but has disastrous fashion sense, like you. She keeps asking me stories about you, they encourage her to train as well as study. Even though you aren't here, you surround us. And finally, I can think about you without crying.

Missing you,

Your loving older sister,

Anna.