18 years of being the big sister.

Today my sister would have had her 18th birthday. She was born the 31st of july, 1991, when I was 5.5 years old. My mother and me went by train from the place where we held our holiday to where my dad and his wife and their newborn daughter lived. I remember how my dad told me I would get a sister. When I stayed over at his place for the weekend (which I did every three weeks) he asked me if I knew what a certain room would be for. I answered that I didn’t, and there he told me. I don’t remember much of my sister as a baby or toddler, only that I was annoyed that she once tore a drawing apart that I made, or that she wrecked the puzzle I had been working on.

When she got a bit older, we used to play together. We spend endless times making tracks with domino-tiles, playing circus, being creative with the kind of beads you would lay into a pattern and then iron so they would stick together, me playing computer-games and her cheering me on. I looked forward to her going to highschool (that transition takes place at 12 here), because then she would finally enter “my” world.

She died when she was 11, almost 12, now 6.5 years ago. It was february and I spent the weekend at with my dad, his wife and my sister at their small holiday-home. We had done grocery-shopping already, but had forgotten some minor little things. Me and my sister would go by bike to get those last items, the store being close by. We had to cross one road, she crossed, I stopped in the middle, and she was hit by a car. Many people rushed to help, an ambulance was called, and I rode back to the holiday-home to warn her parents. My dad went back by bike, his wife and me walked back. The ambulance was there soon, and she was brought to the hospital. This was Saturday, and she died on the following Tuesday. She had had almost no injuries, except some bruises and this extreme brain-injury. The pressure on her brain was over 30 when she was brought into the hospital and lowered to 25 over the days, but never became the normal 1-3 it should be. All the bodily-functions where taken over by machines, and after a while her brain just stopped working. Her body was cremated a week after the accident.

And miss her. Who she was, but mostly who she could’ve been.

1 Response so far »

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    […] against all the sadness I felt (I was never good at crying), against the grief about the death of my sister, for relationships that were not good for me but that I kept going anyway, for feeling better and […]

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