One Year
| 2 min read
Today marks a year since my little sister, Lisa, took her own life. She was 34.
It was an overdose, but we don't know if it was an accident or suicide. We’ll never get an answer, yet I lean toward believing it was by choice. As grim as it sounds, picturing her with some control over the end brings me a small measure of peace.
I still think about her every day, and I still get upset regularly. Especially when I've been to visit my nephew and I see the sadness in his eyes.
At first I was angry at the selfishness of it all, but I think that's gone now. These days I'm just sad.
Mum blames herself, and has asked me numerous times where she went wrong. I never have an answer for that. What can I say? "Well the rest of us turned out ok, Mum. So you did fine." That feels dismissive of her emotions. So I just give her a sad smile and ask her to not think those things.
I miss her. I miss her laugh and dry sense of humour. I miss how she would always call people on their bullshit. Never afraid of speaking up.
Hopefully next year it will be a little less raw...
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