25 October 2012
17 years ago, on the hottest day of the hottest summer we had ever known, I almost had a sister. I would have been a year and a half old at the time, scarcely out of swaddling clothes. My mother, though getting along in years, still had plenty of love left for another child; or even several more, as time would soon prove. I don't remember much from that time, but looking back now, in my mind's eye, I have a very clear image of who my sister would have been. Perhaps it's wishful thinking or maybe it's her spirit teaching me, but I see brown eyes, shoulder-length hair, and a happy, albeit somewhat haphazard, smile. She's smart, far more so than I, and wears horn-rimmed glasses like our father. Athletic, she prefers sports of skill such as softball and soccer to the pure endurance events that I enjoy. She's well-liked by both genders yet finds it difficult to communicate with her peers. To be sure, she tries her hardest to be kind, well-mannered, and funny, but she simply doesn't understand how they can all be so crude, so mean, and so simple. She knows more of love than most, yet never expresses it to anyone but her family. In essence, she is an angel. Maybe that's why she never could be part of this world. Maybe she was too pure, too clean, too holy for this world. Perhaps, and I tell myself this to give me comfort when I think of who she could have been; perhaps God himself couldn't bear to let her pristine soul be sullied by the rest of humanity and so decided to spare her the heartache of life on this world. I know not. Though she never saw the light of the sun or felt the wind caress her face, though she never had the chance to sing or dance or laugh until she cried, she is still my sister. On that day 17 years ago, on the hottest day of summer with the windows rolled down, when my mother was rushing to the hospital two months early, I still got a sister on that day. With the windows rolled down and the wind rushing through the car, picking up papers, socks, everything not tied down; I still got a sister that day. With the wind rushing through the car, snatching away one of the little red baby slippers my mother had so lovingly picked out months ago; I still got a sister that day. The only proof I have now is a single red shoe, scarce bigger than my thumb, the other lost somewhere between life and death; yet I know that I have a sister.
Emma's Story • Opuss № I