Living with Loss

It always amazes me when people say, “I didn’t know your sister died,” when it comes up organically in conversation. It irritates me as well. Of course you don’t know my sister died, but  I don’t tell them that. I tell them, “Well, it’s not like I introduce myself as, “Hi, I’m Renee and my sister Michelle died 17 years ago in a car accident” After all, that would be just awkward, wouldn’t it?

Part of the reason is that even after seventeen years (Michelle died when she was 19), I often don’t want to talk about it. It hurts – not as badly as it did the first year, but it will never be something I can easily talk about to friends. Another reason is that I didn’t want to be known as the woman with a dead sister.  I know how harsh that sounds but North Americans are squirrelly about death.

We could go into a bigger discussion about how death is something to be feared and anyone associated with death becomes tainted. But for me, it’s not a matter of wanting to forget Michelle. I don’t, but there are days when Michelle doesn’t cross my mind. Since her death, I’ve finished two degrees, moved to another country for a year, started my career, moved three times, travelled, bought my own place, watched my brother get married, lost jobs, got jobs, and became an aunt.

The first day I didn’t think about Michelle had me sick with guilt the next day. I remember telling my mother how horrible I felt about forgetting Michelle. Mom told me that it was natural that siblings will eventually move on or it was the therapist, I don’t remember. The first few months after Michelle’s death are still a blur, but looking back on the 17 years since her death, I can see how our family has pulled together. We have grown and we have moved on with our lives.

We haven’t forgotten Michelle and February (her death) and August 24 (her birthday) are still very hard months, but time forces you to move on if you allow it.

But time also does other things. I don’t remember her voice. Michelle died before social media so there are no Vines or Instagram videos of her. I don’t think there are any saved voice mails.  I haven’t forgotten what she looks like but without a voice, I feel like I’m missing a part of her. I assume she sounded like me – we have the same speaking voice and the same inflections. She had a heavier Trinidadian accent though. I think. I don’t remember.

What I do remember is the last conversation we had. She was already at McMaster University. She called and during our chat told me she was going to an event. I remember asking her why she was going, it didn’t seem relevant to her interests but there was a boy. We also argued briefly about my jeans. She had taken them by accident and I was annoyed because I wanted them back. It’s the stupid things you remember.

When I was asked to write this article, I thought about my angle. Was I going to approach it with calm focus and write a beautifully-worded article about my sister? Well, yes – in an ideal world. Problem is emotions got in the way. If you’ve come this far, you’ve probably figured out I’m still angry that she’s gone and that’s ok. Michelle represents a part of me that I wasn’t willing to reveal to the entire world but after 17 years it’s time. She deserves to be known by people who would appreciate her smarts, her humour and her amazing ability to borrow my clothes and my make-up by asking me when I was still asleep.

I miss her.

Renee Sylvestre-Williams is a journalist living in Toronto.

(written for the Bereaved Families of Ontario Halton/Peel newsletter)