Since Ed’s passing, I have struggled on and off with feelings of anger towards pretty much very single member of our family, but especially our parents. However, I haven’t felt a lot of anger towards him, more frustration and sadness that he’d left me. But while at home earlier this week, and while I was dusting his dresser with his large, framed photo from his funeral and the koala stuffed animal I left beside it, I started feeling really, really angry towards him. It kind of crept up on me a little out of nowhere, and I started thinking to him, “Well, isn’t it nice that you aren’t here, and I have to deal with this cluttered, filthy house on my own! They have no one else to lean on except me! I’m here all alone!” I have to listen to her stories of alleged (and fake) victimization. I have to listen to his constant talking to himself. You don’t have to deal with any of this anymore. Well, isn’t that just convenient?!

Then, I caught myself. Why am I feeling angry towards my brother of all people? He was the one who suffered and was abused and misused. He only did what he thought was his last option. Surviving on earth was not an option to him because it prolonged his suffering. I’ve been able to experience a whole world of experiences and emotions and perspectives he’s never been privileged to. Of the two of us, I was always the lucky one. And then my guilt sank in and immediately replaced my anger. He’s gone, and I’m being a terrible sister.

As I thought that, my eyes welled up. Am I still a sister even though my one sibling is gone? Can I still call myself a sister?