Loss

Sunday was the 20th anniversary of my sister Terri's death. I was 7 and barely remember her. My memories fall into two categories - a few (very few) early ones of an energetic blonde girl who loved soccer, and - from all reports - loved being a big sister:



But sadly most of my memories of Terri are from after her sickness, or are pieced together from photos and memories from my dad. I remember having to be very good, very quiet so as not to tire her out. I also remember being "trained" to take care of my sister during her seizures. Mighty weight for a little girl. Words can't describe the terror these episodes caused.



One of the saddest things to have come from this all is what it did to our mother. The tragedy and heartbreak of losing a daughter so early, and so painfully, was too much to bear. Suffice to say that she was never the same.

But nothing was more horrible than watching her lose Terri a second time. Two years ago, we all descended upon the family home to clean out the attic. Dad's the only one there, and decided - rightfully so - to declutter it of things that no longer meant anything to him, or just outright needed to go, like crumbling, mildewed books and tacky 70's Christmas decorations.

Among these boxes we discovered a bunch of Terri's possessions. A lock of her hair. Baby wristband. Sports trophies. School-age artwork and report cards. Teddy bears from the hospital. Our mother dissolved into tears as she looked through them, held them, hugged them - and then threw them, one by one, into the "trash" pile.

Despite our protestations, she insisted on throwing everything away. Blame it on my sentimental soul, but I thought surely she would want to keep even a few mementos? She said it was just too painful to keep, and also pointless. It was so long ago, and she was never coming back, so why hang on to "just stuff?" She would have been more convincing if she hadn't been crying as she said it.

I really wish that I'd had a big sister around for my "formative years". It sure would have been nice to have someone to turn to to discuss boys, school work, make ups and breakups among friends, and just what was going on in my head. I often wonder if she was still with us, would my family still have fractured? Would I be *me*? The uptight, sober, moral person that I am? Or would I have ended up a classic "middle child"? Who knows.

RIP, Teresa Lynn.