I gave into the urge to look at the Facebook page of my dead sister.
I’m not even sure what it is I’m expecting to find. My dad left the last post: a message that she had died. There are no likes. No comments.
I had the urge to send her a Facebook message. I don’t expect she’d respond, but some small part of me, the part that believes in magic, hopes she would get the message.
But then, what would I say?
That my seven-year year old daughter wants to talk about what happened? That I have a hard time explaining it to myself, let alone a child, why she made the choices that she did. That I’m still so angry and sad at the same time?
When my daughter says, “Why didn’t she talk to family.” I have no answer. So we talk about how it can be scary to talk about personal things with family and friends. How embarrassment or pride can keep you from reaching out.
And then my daughter asks, “Did she reach out?”
No, she didn’t. Not really. Not in the way my daughter means. She was never really interested in getting better.
What I don’t say to my daughter, is that there’s fear when you’ve lost someone. Maybe the family didn’t try hard enough.
Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.
All I’m left with is a FaceBook page of a dead sister who didn’t try to change and the hope that maybe my sister’s death can help me give guidance to my daughter.
So my daughter doesn’t one day become an empty Facebook page.