A box arrived from FedEx last Thursday evening. I knew it was coming because the sender sent me a text to let me know. I brought it inside, but haven’t touched it since. It contains more of my sister, Cathy’s, life. It lay hidden under some shelf where she’d put it to protect it from weather. And he found it, when he was cleaning up some other things. I haven’t told anyone that I’d even heard from him, except for Robert. I couldn’t get the words out.

I thought I was done being overwhelmed with missing her. If I could hire a firm to erase bits of my memory, I’d have them erase the moment I took the phone call from the detective telling me that my sister had been murdered. I’d have them erase the pain and anguish in my heart every time I think about how she was tortured and helpless, disabled and alone. I’d have them erase the image of the evil brute who attacked her and which seems to be forever etched on my brain. I’d have them erase the hole in my soul that opens just a crack more every time I bring up that last email she sent me, hitting reply as if I could.

She is buried now, next to our mother, and at rest I hope. She is free from what bound her here. She was a free spirit with a generous heart, even if she didn’t get along with everyone. She fought tooth and nail for what she believed in and for those she loved. We all miss her still.

I will find the courage to open that box. I know it contains precious pictures and other things she treasured. But it may need to wait a while for my heart to calm and my breath to stop catching every time I walk by it.