By JM Comeau
How do you say goodbye to someone you never knew? I couldn’t handle it at seventeen. Caught between feeling guilty for wanting to grieve someone I felt I had no right to, and not understanding how to grieve even if I gave myself permission. Twenty years later and I still can’t say her name without fracturing.
We went to family counseling offered by the hospital. They had refreshments. A cheap version of those oval, vanilla sandwich cookies that leave a film on the roof of your mouth. Seven or eight families spread out around a dimly lit auditorium, far too big for the meager audience which suited me just fine. They wanted us to open up about what had been lost, find comfort and solace in each other. Acknowledge that we weren’t facing this alone. I burrowed deep inside myself, seeking shelter from this vulgar voyeurism. I don’t recall what was said by my family, or anyone else. I do recall being a little shit to my mom on the way home, telling her that I would not be going back.
I’ve never apologized to her for that. I’ve never been brave enough to ask her whether she felt the same as I did, that our loss was not meant to be displayed, trotted out to somehow help other families. “See? You’re not special. We also have a gaping space that will leave a lasting impact. We will have those bittersweet mentions of ‘She would’ve been sixteen today. Can you believe that?’” Maybe she carried it as a solo burden in an effort to protect me. This is well within character for her, to take on everything herself, be everything to everyone until she physically cannot.
Sharing pain is supposed to help, but I can’t. I hoard my scars like a child with Halloween candy. Talking about it feels selfish, petty. I lost a sister. Mom grew this life inside of her, only to have it emerge too early, unready. To talk of losing a sister and all the future moments with her pales in comparison to losing your child, the child you anticipated would complete your family. Where Noelle should be there is a longing. A yearning for those missing moments. An anger at promise stolen away before we ever got to meet her.