cw: death, drugs, I am Sad
once, my sister thought she was dying.
after decades of alcohol and painkiller abuse, they’d called it — end-stage liver failure,
no chance of a transplant.
she called me with the news, crying, drunk maybe,
and in our conversation she asked if i had struggled with addiction, for we rarely spoke,
and i told her i had and did, and mentioned how,
and she laughed at me.
they would turn out to have been mistaken, and she did not die.
later that year i would pay for months of rehab for her,
because nobody else [cw]ould.
this is probably the best sibling relationship i have.