I am the youngest of five
girls. You'd think that living in a small house with five girls would be
difficult, and you would very, very correct. Being the youngest, I
missed out on a lot of sibling rivalry growing up. I was just born when
three of the five of us were already in their early teens. Being the
youngest also means I didn't really connect with any of them - none of
them but the oldest, Anne.
Anne always liked to talk about how she practically raised me. She liked to tell me about how she would go get me while I was crying in my crib and watch cartoons with me. She says she was the only sister that was truly excited when Mom told them she was pregnant with me. It's true, the other four were more or less uncaring, or jealous.
Over the years, despite how close we were growing up, Anne started to change. She was laid off of the first good job she had when she was 23 and ever since it was like she was in a downward spiral. She was in an abusive relationship, but she argued that they loved each other. She stuck with him until one particularly bad incident and then moved back home.
When all of this was going on I was only about 9. At that age no one tells you stuff like that. No one said to me, "Anne just lost her job, and was depending on an alcoholic shit to provide for her while he beat her up." So instead, Mom made it seem like Anne coming home was a good thing. I was excited and it meant I got to spend more time with her.
Fast-forward to high school. I meet my future husband, and I've become a different person than I was when I was 9. Anne is working a shitty job and dating and breaking up with multiple guys. I don't talk to my sisters ever at this point. I'm shy, I'm different, and talking on the phone just isn't my thing.
A little after graduation Anne has nearly cut off ties with the family. She's with a divorced man who has three kids. She's taking care of these kids while he uses her car to get back and forth to work. And he beats her. She only calls us when she's drunk. Other than that, she doesn't answer her phone, and tries very hard to cover up any foul-play between the two of them.
When Anne calls me at one in the morning, I'm afraid to answer. She's always weepy and she talks on a loop. She says the same stuff over and over again about how much she loves me, how she was always there for me even when Mom wasn't... These calls lasted for hours. I would lock myself in the bathroom so that my now-husband wouldn't hear how unwell my sister was, but you can't hide four-hour long phone calls that early in the morning.
My sister was very ill. There were a lot of things no one could fix for her. We did the best we could, and even now I can't really come to grips with the idea of Anne not being here anymore. I'm convinced that there was no one in this world she loved more than me, which makes me feel accountable...
On July 7th this year Anne committed suicide. She didn't leave a note for someone to find because she knew her abusive boyfriend would find her first.
Our family quickly got everything ready for her funeral and set the date for that following Tuesday. We were in shock, but we knew there were things that needed to be done. Specifically, we needed to collect her things from their apartment. Mom got the four of us and Dad together for that Saturday to bring boxes and go through her stuff together.
That was when I found the letters she left me.
I'm not sure if this was our family's thing, or if other mothers and fathers do this, but any time we would go on a trip -like summer camp or a sleepover- Mom would buy us cheap cards from the store and write a date on the envelope. The date was when we were supposed to open it. Inside it would be a sweet little note saying "hope you're having fun! miss you!" or something along those lines. It helped with any homesickness and was kind of like a mini Christmas.
That was how Anne fashioned the letters. They had been stacked neatly together and bound with a piece of yellow yarn. The first one said Open on Monday, July 8. I guess she had assumed we'd go through her things the day after.
Tearfully, and with my parents and sisters with me, I opened the letter with shaky hands. I remember how my stomach felt like there were butterflies in it, and I thought I might throw up. I pulled the card out and smiled. It was one of those blank cards with no specific occasion, and it had a cat tangled up in a ball of yellow yarn on the front.
I'm so sorry, it read, I hope you can forgive me. I was so sad, and so unhappy. I know that you're going to live a long and happy life. Love you forever, little girl. Anne.
I was a wreck. Mom couldn't console me, my sisters were speechless, and I was wracked with guilt. I looked through the next few letters that were each dated for Mondays. All of the following Mondays had a letter. Each letter got happier, and more light-hearted than the one before it. It was as if Anne was conveying to me how her life had improved in death. It was strange, but comforting.
I had a letter for every Monday up to August 12th. The following week my letter was dated for that Wednesday. I'd gotten into such a routine that I almost opened it that Monday before my husband pointed it out. It was dated for August 21, our dad's birthday.
It was a birthday card for Dad. It was written and signed just like Anne would have done if she were alive, and it made our father cry.
The next card is where everything changes. The next card was dated for September 11th.
So much death... their faces are so scarred. I've never seen anything like it. So much sadness and mourning. They weren't finished, little girl. They weren't ready.
The card left me shaken and upset. It didn't make any sense. After the sweet and beautiful notes she'd written in all the others, where had this come from? What was she talking about? I had so many questions, but no one to answer them.
My next letter said to open on Wednesday, September 27. I didn't have the chance to open it that morning when I usually opened them because I got a phone call. For months I'd been unemployed and had been looking for a job to help my husband out. That morning our local vet's office called me for an interview. It was the best news I'd gotten in a long time, so I honestly forgot about Anne's letter until I was eating lunch after my interview. I'd gotten the job and was set to start the following Monday.
When I opened the envelope I pulled out a Congratulations! card. The inside was printed with a bunch of cheesy "You did it! Great job! Take a bow!"s and in the corner Anne had written, I'm so proud of you. You'll do great!
I felt elated. This was my first real job. I wasn't a waitress anymore and I was excited to celebrate. It wasn't until I was washing off my plate from lunch that I realized what that card said. There was no way. It didn't make any sense. How could Anne possibly have known?
Coincidence. There was no other explanation.
The most recent card was dated for Monday, October 7. This past Monday. I was relieved after the last two to be going back to the normal Monday's.
This Monday morning was hell. Both my husband and I woke up half an hour late. I was in a huge rush getting ready and shoved the letter into my purse along with a cereal bar. My husband drives a lot for work so instead of going into work his boss assigned him a place near home to drive over to quickly.
I was at the computer in the lobby about to open my letter when my cell phone rang. My husband never calls me during work, since I'm not allowed personal calls, so seeing his number made my heart drop.
It was the city hospital. They said he'd been rushed in from a bad wreck and that I was under his emergency contacts. I told them who I was and told them I would be there in less than fifteen minutes.
At the hospital the receptionist couldn't allow me back. My husband was undergoing intensive surgery after the damage from the wreck. She couldn't provide me with any more details of what had happened, except that there was some head trauma, and that he'd been "pinned in".
I was hysterical, but I managed to calm myself down and take a seat. I knew the doctor would come to me with any information as soon as possible. In the meantime, I needed to let my mother-in-law know, and my own mom.
I reached into my purse for my cell phone and felt Anne's letter. I pulled it out. I opened it.
It was a get-well soon card. There was a bunny with a bandage wrapped around its head. My hands were shaking as I opened the card.
It's going to be fine, baby sister. Sometimes bad things happen in life that you aren't meant to understand. It will only hurt more if you try to make sense of these things. It's not his time yet. I've always taken care of you, and I always will. I promise you that when the time comes, I'll be there for you.
I haven't shown my husband. I haven't mentioned any of this to my Mom, or my sisters. I'm not sure what she means by "when the time comes", but the letters stop on October 29th.
Source
Anne always liked to talk about how she practically raised me. She liked to tell me about how she would go get me while I was crying in my crib and watch cartoons with me. She says she was the only sister that was truly excited when Mom told them she was pregnant with me. It's true, the other four were more or less uncaring, or jealous.
Over the years, despite how close we were growing up, Anne started to change. She was laid off of the first good job she had when she was 23 and ever since it was like she was in a downward spiral. She was in an abusive relationship, but she argued that they loved each other. She stuck with him until one particularly bad incident and then moved back home.
When all of this was going on I was only about 9. At that age no one tells you stuff like that. No one said to me, "Anne just lost her job, and was depending on an alcoholic shit to provide for her while he beat her up." So instead, Mom made it seem like Anne coming home was a good thing. I was excited and it meant I got to spend more time with her.
Fast-forward to high school. I meet my future husband, and I've become a different person than I was when I was 9. Anne is working a shitty job and dating and breaking up with multiple guys. I don't talk to my sisters ever at this point. I'm shy, I'm different, and talking on the phone just isn't my thing.
A little after graduation Anne has nearly cut off ties with the family. She's with a divorced man who has three kids. She's taking care of these kids while he uses her car to get back and forth to work. And he beats her. She only calls us when she's drunk. Other than that, she doesn't answer her phone, and tries very hard to cover up any foul-play between the two of them.
When Anne calls me at one in the morning, I'm afraid to answer. She's always weepy and she talks on a loop. She says the same stuff over and over again about how much she loves me, how she was always there for me even when Mom wasn't... These calls lasted for hours. I would lock myself in the bathroom so that my now-husband wouldn't hear how unwell my sister was, but you can't hide four-hour long phone calls that early in the morning.
My sister was very ill. There were a lot of things no one could fix for her. We did the best we could, and even now I can't really come to grips with the idea of Anne not being here anymore. I'm convinced that there was no one in this world she loved more than me, which makes me feel accountable...
On July 7th this year Anne committed suicide. She didn't leave a note for someone to find because she knew her abusive boyfriend would find her first.
Our family quickly got everything ready for her funeral and set the date for that following Tuesday. We were in shock, but we knew there were things that needed to be done. Specifically, we needed to collect her things from their apartment. Mom got the four of us and Dad together for that Saturday to bring boxes and go through her stuff together.
That was when I found the letters she left me.
I'm not sure if this was our family's thing, or if other mothers and fathers do this, but any time we would go on a trip -like summer camp or a sleepover- Mom would buy us cheap cards from the store and write a date on the envelope. The date was when we were supposed to open it. Inside it would be a sweet little note saying "hope you're having fun! miss you!" or something along those lines. It helped with any homesickness and was kind of like a mini Christmas.
That was how Anne fashioned the letters. They had been stacked neatly together and bound with a piece of yellow yarn. The first one said Open on Monday, July 8. I guess she had assumed we'd go through her things the day after.
Tearfully, and with my parents and sisters with me, I opened the letter with shaky hands. I remember how my stomach felt like there were butterflies in it, and I thought I might throw up. I pulled the card out and smiled. It was one of those blank cards with no specific occasion, and it had a cat tangled up in a ball of yellow yarn on the front.
I'm so sorry, it read, I hope you can forgive me. I was so sad, and so unhappy. I know that you're going to live a long and happy life. Love you forever, little girl. Anne.
I was a wreck. Mom couldn't console me, my sisters were speechless, and I was wracked with guilt. I looked through the next few letters that were each dated for Mondays. All of the following Mondays had a letter. Each letter got happier, and more light-hearted than the one before it. It was as if Anne was conveying to me how her life had improved in death. It was strange, but comforting.
I had a letter for every Monday up to August 12th. The following week my letter was dated for that Wednesday. I'd gotten into such a routine that I almost opened it that Monday before my husband pointed it out. It was dated for August 21, our dad's birthday.
It was a birthday card for Dad. It was written and signed just like Anne would have done if she were alive, and it made our father cry.
The next card is where everything changes. The next card was dated for September 11th.
So much death... their faces are so scarred. I've never seen anything like it. So much sadness and mourning. They weren't finished, little girl. They weren't ready.
The card left me shaken and upset. It didn't make any sense. After the sweet and beautiful notes she'd written in all the others, where had this come from? What was she talking about? I had so many questions, but no one to answer them.
My next letter said to open on Wednesday, September 27. I didn't have the chance to open it that morning when I usually opened them because I got a phone call. For months I'd been unemployed and had been looking for a job to help my husband out. That morning our local vet's office called me for an interview. It was the best news I'd gotten in a long time, so I honestly forgot about Anne's letter until I was eating lunch after my interview. I'd gotten the job and was set to start the following Monday.
When I opened the envelope I pulled out a Congratulations! card. The inside was printed with a bunch of cheesy "You did it! Great job! Take a bow!"s and in the corner Anne had written, I'm so proud of you. You'll do great!
I felt elated. This was my first real job. I wasn't a waitress anymore and I was excited to celebrate. It wasn't until I was washing off my plate from lunch that I realized what that card said. There was no way. It didn't make any sense. How could Anne possibly have known?
Coincidence. There was no other explanation.
The most recent card was dated for Monday, October 7. This past Monday. I was relieved after the last two to be going back to the normal Monday's.
This Monday morning was hell. Both my husband and I woke up half an hour late. I was in a huge rush getting ready and shoved the letter into my purse along with a cereal bar. My husband drives a lot for work so instead of going into work his boss assigned him a place near home to drive over to quickly.
I was at the computer in the lobby about to open my letter when my cell phone rang. My husband never calls me during work, since I'm not allowed personal calls, so seeing his number made my heart drop.
It was the city hospital. They said he'd been rushed in from a bad wreck and that I was under his emergency contacts. I told them who I was and told them I would be there in less than fifteen minutes.
At the hospital the receptionist couldn't allow me back. My husband was undergoing intensive surgery after the damage from the wreck. She couldn't provide me with any more details of what had happened, except that there was some head trauma, and that he'd been "pinned in".
I was hysterical, but I managed to calm myself down and take a seat. I knew the doctor would come to me with any information as soon as possible. In the meantime, I needed to let my mother-in-law know, and my own mom.
I reached into my purse for my cell phone and felt Anne's letter. I pulled it out. I opened it.
It was a get-well soon card. There was a bunny with a bandage wrapped around its head. My hands were shaking as I opened the card.
It's going to be fine, baby sister. Sometimes bad things happen in life that you aren't meant to understand. It will only hurt more if you try to make sense of these things. It's not his time yet. I've always taken care of you, and I always will. I promise you that when the time comes, I'll be there for you.
I haven't shown my husband. I haven't mentioned any of this to my Mom, or my sisters. I'm not sure what she means by "when the time comes", but the letters stop on October 29th.
Source
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