A Letter to My Sister

A Letter to My Sister

Dear Lesley,

I wanted to take a few minutes and tell you all the things I tried to express over our lives together. Over the past couple of days I have tried to process your death and sort through the many emotions I am struggling with right now. I pray in some way you will know how I feel and perhaps it will bring you some comfort.

You were almost five years older than me. For all of our lives, you would always refer to me as, “my little brother.” Growing up, I know you tolerated me as a big sister. Mom made you take me with you places, and although you acted like it cramped your style, I know you really didn’t mind.

I remember the Halloween parties at our house, with all your friends coming over, and me falling over myself trying to impress your pretty friends. I was the cute little mascot; all your friends doting over me with my fantasies of being able to date some of the prettiest girls in school.

My favorite memory is you taking me to a KISS concert at the old Greenville Memorial Auditorium for my thirteenth birthday. I got to bring along my friend Tony, which meant his older sister and your best friend Melissa came. She was my first crush. An absolutely stunning girl with a great personality; she saw me as another little brother like Tony.

We had an awesome time. We left the concert had realized your car got towed so we had to walk to the police station and pool all our money together to get it out. On the way home, Melissa sat in my lap because there wasn’t enough room. I could have died and gone to heaven. We were all young and full of potential. You were one of the prettiest girls in school and popular. I was the nerd. But your coolness gave me a little cred as a freshman in high school.

That was before the drugs took control of you.

I had to watch you destroy your life because you never could shake your demons. The garbage our parents put us through took a toll on all of us. But it hit you the hardest. I saw you turn to pain killers, then meth to sooth the tremendous pain inside.

When I walked home from my job at Ingles at midnight to our apartment on the bad side of town, I swore at sixteen I would escape. And I did. But it killed me I could not take you with me.

I know you turned to men to try and find the love and acceptance our dad never gave you. I watched men use you only to discard you like a piece of trash. I observed helplessly as drugs took everything from you and it broke my heart.

So many times I tried to help you over the years. Even when you stole from me to buy drugs I knew that wasn’t really you. I talked to you about Jesus and tried to get you in church, but you never felt good enough. I understand. Sometimes, church can be the cruelest place on earth. Many good churchgoers want everything in a nice, sanitized package. But we know better. We know how dirty life can be in the gutter, trying to claw your way out with no hope in sight.

The thing that kills me is that I don’t know where your soul is at. I know God does not change His standard for anyone. I wish you could have allowed Jesus to sooth your pain. I haven’t slept well since you passed and I’m not sure I ever will. I can’t stand the thought of you being separated from Christ for eternity.

I pray you somehow were able to make peace with Jesus. I am going to choose to remember you like you were on my thirteenth birthday. Full of life and promise before things got so bad. I am so sorry Lesley I was not able to get you out.

Love,

Your Little Brother