FamilySplitSac

31 Aug 3 min read

MY SISTER IS GONE, BUT I STILL CAN’T FORGIVE HER

I don’t know if I’m a terrible person for saying this, but I will never forgive my elder sister for what she put me through. She’s no longer alive, and sometimes when I remember everything that happened, I find myself praying that wherever she is, she will never know peace until she pays for the pain her decisions brought into my life. It sounds harsh, but I have carried this anger for so long that I don’t even know how to let it go. My sister was only five years older than me, but there was a time when she became more than just my sister. She was almost like my mother. When life was good for her, she took care of me, paid some of my school expenses and made sure I didn’t lack the things she could afford. I loved her deeply, which was why watching her make one painful decision after another broke my heart. Even before she had her first child, she had already been through several relationships that everyone thought would eventually lead to marriage. One after another, they all ended. Then she became pregnant, and the man responsible denied the pregnancy. I begged her to stop allowing men to destroy her life. I told her, “Please, forget about love for now. Build yourself. Take care of yourself and your child.” But she didn’t listen. She later lost her job and became pregnant again, this time for a married man. When she told him about the pregnancy, he became furious and even cursed her for letting people know he was responsible. I was angry and disappointed, but I still stood by her because she was my sister. I told her, “This should be the last time. Please, don’t get pregnant again for another man who isn’t ready to marry you.” She promised me she understood. But two years after giving birth, she became pregnant again. And this time, it was for another man. Something inside me broke. I stopped talking to her. I felt she wasn’t just hurting herself anymore; she was dragging everyone around her into the consequences of her choices. I told myself that I was done rescuing her. I didn’t know that the last time I ignored her would become something I would regret for the rest of my life. One morning, I woke up to eleven missed calls from my mother. My heart immediately sank. I called her back, and before she could say anything, I heard her crying uncontrollably. Then she finally said, “Mavis is gone. She’s gone for good. She has left this world.” I couldn’t speak. The sister I was angry with. The sister I refused to talk to. The same woman I once loved so much that she felt like my second mother was suddenly gone. Now I’m left with a question that keeps tormenting me: Did I have to forgive her before she died? Or was I allowed to be angry at the choices that kept hurting all of us? I don’t know where she is now. I don’t even know if my anger makes me a bad person. But one thing I know is that grief is complicated when the person you lost is also the person who hurt you the most. Maybe some wounds don’t disappear just because the person who caused them is gone.