Today commemorates the first anniversary of my sister Angela’s passing. To say that I have experienced a profound sense of loss would be an understatement. Despite not residing in the same household for over two decades we had stayed close. Sure we had occasional disagreements, but we had mutually agreed to reconcile a few years before her passing. Regrettably, her health deteriorated significantly in the final year of her life. I was fortunate to see her in the hospital twice before her passing and I was holding her hand during her final moments. Writing this evokes a significant emotional response, but after a year, I am filled with gratitude that I was able to be there with her. Although she was receiving life support, I am convinced that she sensed the presence of her family around her.
Naturally I was there for her. As I child when I needed her, she was there countless times. I grew up with serious childhood asthma, I faced significant breathing challenges which resulted in my being of small stature and quite frail. Consequently, I developed into a cautious and reserved person. In contrast, Angela possessed strength, an outgoing spirit, and robustness. At one point, she declared war on any boys at my school who took advantage of my weakened state and tried to use me as a punching bag. As a means of saving face and avoiding embarrassment in front of their peers, they attempted to stand their ground against the formidable force, the main battle tank that was my sister. Angela showed them no mercy, and even I was terrified by the beating she would inflict upon my tormentors. No one else was permitted to beat her brother. Doing so was reserved solely for her. It was a privilege that she held dear and was very willing to fight for.
She always hated and feared doctors. Whenever I had to see one as a child she would not go into the examination room with me and my mother, instead she would hang out at the far end of a long hallway. A seven year old girl yelling at the doctors and nurses “Don’t you hurt my brother! If you hurt my brother, I’m going to kill you!” Once my mother and I returned to the waiting room with a lollypop for her, she attempted to take my candy away after consuming hers, but my mother promptly intervened.
Despite growing up together under the guidance of a strict single mother, we developed distinct personalities. Angela was highly attuned to the opinions of her peers, while I was accustomed to the isolation and rejection that came with not fitting in. She experienced a tumultuous rebellious phase during her teenage years and her twenties, which was distressing to observe from a distance. However, she ultimately overcame these challenges and emerged stronger.
Recently, I rediscovered some old photographs of my sister and me. These cherished memories serve as a poignant reminder of our past, transporting me back to a time when Angela possessed an unwavering courage. Despite my occasional apprehension towards her, I knew that when danger approached, her resolve would surge to confront it head-on.
I miss you Angela, I still need my guardian angel at my side.
I think we all do.
