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

“It troubles me that we carry her characteristics and traits. I’m comforted only by the fact that we have the capacity to love ourselves and others. No matter what she held back from us, we developed a conscience. I’ve yet to meet someone who can say the same thing about her. When I think of her, my thoughts consistently drift back to you. I did know her. I do remember her laughter, her smile, and how I felt when I would lay my head on her lap, her stroking my hair when I was sick. And years later, how she’d cover me up when I was passed out drunk. You know nothing of her. I feel sickened as I write this; I have carried this weight for so long. I’m afraid to live without it. Who am I without the damage that came from her choices? Who am I without my ability to detach? Perhaps my ambivalence is waning…forgiveness seems to be the only way through. I can forgive her. I forgive myself. But I won't love her. I hope I'm making the right choice. I wish mom could see us now. Maybe she could pretend to love us, and we could pretend she loves us too.”