Love, Christina (a letter from my sister) — excerpt 2|3:

“I wouldn't allow myself to go through everything. She is dead. I can't ask her why she did this to us. Even if I could, would she be honest about it anyway? Why do I still want an answer? Why do I want you to have an answer? The memories waft in like a rancid smell and linger in the air, and I search for the source, but can't find it. As I begin to investigate, the scent dissipates. Yet, always resurfacing. For many years I accepted the fact that she had forgotten about us. But, after two years clean I find compassion creeping in like a rodent out from hiding. I empathize with the loss of a family she didn't deserve. I don’t want to die alone like her. I don't want to have these emotions.”