Two days ago marked the twenty-five year anniversary of the day we got the phone call that would change us forever. It was the beginning of a series of events that destroyed us in a way, but also made us stronger in a way too.
I would rather have stayed the weaker version of myself, frankly.
My 29-year-old sister, Joanne, was stepping off a commuter train. A conductor didn't look back like he should have and moved the train forward. She stumbled. She hit her head on the concrete platform.
And died.
Today marks the day that they took her off the machines that were keeping her alive.
Oh, how I miss her.
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