The Dump

Almost

Dear my almost-sibling,

It has been eight years since you popped in to visit.
I don't remember much about you.
A conversation about names,
A scolding for telling an aunt about you.

Did that jinx it, maybe?
Did announcing you to the world so early scare you into leaving?
My parents have never mentioned you since you left.
Even now, I think, the thought of you is painful.

Please understand, little one, that I don't say 'my' parents to exclude you.
I would have welcomed you with open arms, as I have other little girls in recent years.
But my family is a hard one, a stormy one, and I'm almost glad you don't belong to it.
I like to think that you succeeded in being born elsewhere, to some more stable family.

I think, often, about what you would have thought of me, if you would resent me.
I know that being the sibling of a disabled person is hard.
Always expected to help, your problems always overshadowed by my medical ones.
I don't wish that on you, on anyone.

But sometimes I can't help but think about what it would have been like to have you around.
I can't help thinking of the frustration and pride of teaching you to read.
Of the joy of watching you sit up, crawl, walk, faster and better than I ever have.
Of the quick-start quick-end fights only siblings seem to have.
Of watching you grow into a mature adult, someone I hope I'd be friends with.

I wonder who you would have been.
Would you have gotten my mother's dry sarcasm?
Or my father's gentle ways?
When they divorced, which parent would you have pleaded to go with?

Some questions I am glad were never answered.
Some will call to me for the rest of my life.
Good luck wherever you are, little question.
I'm sorry we never met.

Love,
Your almost-sister