When I was 9-years-old, my parents got a divorce. It was kind of a weird transition for me, because I wasn't quite old enough to really understand what exactly was happening, but I wasn't young enough that I would ever truly forget what happened.
Three years later, after many dating websites and many boyfriends, my mom remarried. At the time, my mother and new stepfather were both relatively heavy drinkers, which soon created a very toxic household. The relationship gradually built up into glass-shattering, profanity-laden physical violence that more times than none ended in a 911 call. it was probably the furthest thing possible from a healthy relationship, but my mom refused to acknowledge it as anything less. More years of constant abuse continued, and one day I came home to my mother saying that she had news. I was told that my mother was pregnant, that her and my stepdad were going to have a child. I was told how excited that I must be, because I was going to have a little sister!
I was immediately filled with unbelievable rage. I couldn't understand how or why someone would want to bring such an innocent life into such a toxic household. I refused to believe that my mom and stepdad were so blind to their own tendencies to the point where they couldn't see why this was a bad idea. For the next nine months I carried this hatred with me.
I can vaguely remember having a conversation about the whole situation while at my best friend's house. I remember her asking me if I was happy that my sister was coming. I remember telling her no, thinking that I would never, ever want someone to go through the things that I did in that house, let alone a new innocent child who had never experienced the beauty of the world.
She asked my if I thought they would change, if my mom and stepdad would become better parents when my sister was born. My heart yearned to say yes, that they would become more loving of one another, of my brother and I, of their new child. I was also sparked with jealousy. I felt that if change did come, it would be a smack in the face letting me know that I wasn't good enough, that I didn't matter enough to give us a normal life.
Molly Jade McKay was born on December 9, 2010.
She was a quiet baby, peaceful and beautiful. I could feel her innocence when I looked into those eyes, wide-open and glimmering with excitement and wonder for this new world. She was the closest thing to perfect that I've ever met.
My sister died four months later. That was the first time I had ever experienced gut-wrenching pain. When I was told that she died, my knees buckled underneath me and my body collapsed with them. I didn't cry, I just sat up against the wall of my room for hours on end. It was a weird pain, I'd never really experienced anything like it before. It was as if a black hole was ripping me apart inside, as if every emotion that I had was getting sucked up and spiraling away.
The next day, I felt that I had got hit by a bus. Physically, the lack of sleep was taking a toll on my body, but it was nothing compared to what was happening emotionally. I was inconsolable throughout the day, crying because yes, I had lost my sister and yes,it was very sad, but mostly because I blamed myself for her dying.
I felt that all the negative feelings that I had toward her being born and all the times that I wished she hadn't been conceived, out of fear for her life, meant it was my fault she was gone. I honestly believed that the universe found a way to harness all my hatred and fear and channeled it into taking her away.
For months, I carried this weight on my shoulders. Every day I hated myself more, every night I yelled at an invisible god, crying to take me instead and give back my sister, because she did not deserve to leave this world so early. I weeped because I knew that she never got to fall in love, she never watched in awe as the sun turned the sky coral pink and burning orange, she never got to fall asleep next to the unconditional love of the family dog. She never got to live.
One day, I learned that my sister passed away due to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, also known as SIDS or "crib death". Kidshealth.org explains that SIDS is diagnosed when all other possibilities of death have been ruled out.
This information changed my life and opened my eyes. It took me many, many tries, but eventually I was able to sit down and tell myself that I was not at fault here. I could not have inflicted this upon my sister, it was physically impossible. While unbelievably tragic and extremely devastating, I could not continue to put myself at blame for what happened.
Once I was able to separate my guilt from the reality of the situation, the weight lifted off my shoulders. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of my beautiful sister and wish that I could look into those innocent, crystal blue eyes one more time, but now those memories are filled with happiness and adoration, rather than pain and regret.
