There are so many things I never said. It was not because I didn’t want to. I didn’t know how to speak grief without breaking myself open. I was always scared of your reaction.

After mom died, it felt like the world split us in half. Nine hours apart. Two states. Two lives that were supposed to keep going. It felt as if the most important person in them hadn’t just vanished. To me, you were the most important person I had left. Adults called it “what was best,” because legally our dads had custody, but it never felt right. It felt like losing you on top of losing her, and the pain grew deep.

I used to wonder why you kept me at a distance. Why the phone would go unanswered for months. Why conversations ended the moment her name came up. Why sometimes you hung up like the pain was too loud to hear.

I took it personally. I thought maybe I reminded you too much of what we lost. Maybe I was too much. Maybe loving me meant facing something you weren’t ready to face. But even then — even as a kid — I made myself a promise. If you ever called me when you were falling apart, I would answer.

And I did. Every time. And always will.

I answered when you needed to talk about mom. I answered when you talked about girlfriends. I answered when you didn’t even know why you were calling. You just couldn’t be alone in that moment. What I didn’t know back then was that while I was trying to survive my grief one way. You were surviving yours the same way. I didn’t know about the drugs. I didn’t know how close you were to the edge. And the truth is — I wasn’t that far behind you myself.

We were both scared. We were both drowning. We just grabbed onto the closest life rafts we had available. For a long time, I thought your distance meant you didn’t need me or even want me. Now I understand it meant you were trying not to fall apart.

I don’t blame you anymore. I don’t blame either of us. We were children who lost our mother and then lost the safety of staying together. We were asked to be strong before we even knew what strength meant. And somehow, despite everything, love still existed between us — even in silence.

— Love, Your Sister The Healing Wildflower