“Sister: What I Never Said (An Ode to Absence)”
Sister
Dear Sister,
Since we were kids, you said you protected me. I never really understood why — not until recently. You loved me more than our younger brother. Those were your words, spoken when we were older. I remember almost nothing from childhood. Just blurry snapshots in my mind.
The memories I have of you are scattered and faint. I do remember people saying, “Your sister is brilliant, the best in her class.” And you were. From the moment I became aware of the world, I lived with that shadow. “Be more like her,” they said. That part stuck.
We grew up, and you left. You flew fast. You always knew Santiago wasn’t for you. After that, silence. Until I followed your path and started flying too. That’s when we reconnected. You welcomed me. You guided me. I know you did more than I’ll ever know. You gave up things that were yours — and things that weren’t. I was unaware. I lived inside my own head, chasing a career, trying to find meaning. I didn’t see the sacrifices you and our parents made to help me escape our coffin of a hometown.
We kept growing. And again, we drifted apart. This time for years. Life got busy. We had to succeed. You kept rising. So did I. But truthfully, you reached higher. And you didn’t have to sleep your way there. Your mind was enough. That’s why I admired you. From a distance, I was proud of you. Always.
Flying Higher
You stayed in that white-collar prison I always wanted to escape. And it shrank around you. Became a small hell. Your achievements stopped being enough. Your brilliance wasn’t enough anymore. You had children. So did I. And everything that was a blessing became weight. More responsibility. More silence. Less connection. Life threw punches. We fell. We got up. We learned to survive. Alone. Without needing each other. Without needing anyone.
Cancer
Years passed. Things were fine — in your needs, in my material abundance. Until cancer knocked on your door. Everything changed. For the first time in 39 years, I feared for you. I saw your humanity. You were no longer the woman who lived life her way, who had done it all and felt fulfilled. You were no longer untouchable. Something stronger than life had reached you: death.
You saw it up close. It stayed with you. Took part of your body. Bit harder than it should have — harder than what happens to good people, to people who fear God. But you, as always, survived. You excelled in survival. God and faith worked the miracle. But the experience stayed. And the lesson it left was deeper than anything before.
Sister
I love you, my sister. And I don’t know you. I’m not your best friend. Maybe not even close. I know you love me too. But you don’t know me. You know the child version of me. But you don’t know what makes me happy. Why I tremble at night. Why I sometimes don’t recognize myself in the mirror. We’ve lost so much time. And the worst part is, we don’t know what’s coming next. We’re not ready to leave — not even close. We’re too busy surviving the now.
Oh sister. I want to know you. To be there when you need someone. To be not just your brother, but your friend. I want you to be happy. I want God to give you health and strength — so you can see your children grow old, so you can rock a grandchild to sleep. So you can wrap our parents in their final breath. I ask God to give us another chance. To recover the time we lost. The time we didn’t know how to treasure. May God bless us. And have mercy on us. And on our family.
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