Today the trial starts.
I’m not allowed to be there for jury selection, because technically, I’m a witness.
Tomorrow morning I get to stand in front of that jury and describe my sister as what she was.
Human.
Last week I was in a drivethru, where I was handed my lunch by a woman who may have been my sister’s age, if it weren’t for the additional years that her face held. She was aged, she was missing teeth, and her features seemed to be a breadcrumb trail back to harder times.
She handed over my food, and smiled brightly at me with her porous smile as she handed me my change. And I was overwhelmingly taken by her energy, her positivity, and her authenticity. She was trying. Really hard. And she was happy, there was no faking what she was feeling.
I often criticized my sister for “never having gotten her act together”. I tried to be fair, explaining to people about how her life had become about managing her various conditions, but I know that I always wished she would simply make better choices. Knowing what I know about mental health and disease now, I know she wasn’t making conscious choices all the time, and her neurotransmitters were as much to blame as her lack of willpower. She had a disease, and those who aren’t afflicted can’t have true empathy of those who are.
I don’t truly know what her life was like, because I don’t know what it was like to live in her head. But tomorrow I get to focus on her heart.
Wow, good luck with that. Sounds pretty intense.
stumbled over here from a notice that you were following me on twitter. this post leaves me with chills. i can relate in so many ways.