The opposite of her.

Me, on my 3rd birthday, and Jos, 6 months, in 1985. 

“A sister is both your mirror – and your opposite.” – Elizabeth Fishel

It’s the sixth year since she left, quietly, in her sleep. Joscelyne- loud, and laughing, and singing, in lip gloss and heels and body mist- closed her eyes, and then… silence.

Silence that was the opposite of her.

I was comfortable in silence until November 20th, 2012. I even found solace in it at times. But that was then, before my life was bisected, before when I was a big sister. Now, I’m the youngest.

And silence unsettles me. Podcasts, videos, old episodes of Law & Order (any of the three), movies, or music, or phone calls, whatever… anything, but… silence. Silence feels too big, too void, and much too empty. It reminds me that I’m alone… and not the middle kid, and fatherless now, too. It’s taunts me that I’ve lost my mirror, my place… my Joscelyne.

She was loudness and laughing and yelling. She was sound and often noise. She was hugs and dancing and a swivel of the hips.

She is photos in albums and gilded frames and Facebook. She is images in videos and memories in minds and tattoo memorials.

I am…