A Sibling Is The Lens Through Which

No One Can Write Like Cheryl Strayed.

My Cousins And I Used To Play Beatle Wives. We All Wanted To Be Married To Paul, But John Was O.k. Too. None Of Us Wanted Ringo. Or Even Worse, George.

In My Adult Life, I Had Spent A Lot Of Time Angry At God, Mostly Over The Sudden Deaths In My Family - My Brother At 30, My Daughter At 5.

The Only Language She Could Speak Was Grief. How Could He Not Know That? Instead, She Said, "i Love You." She Did. She Loved Him. But Even That Didn't Feel Like Anything Anymore.

I Was A Daughterless Mother. I Had Nowhere To Put The Things A Mother Places On Her Daughter. The Nail Polish I Used To Paint Our Toenails Hardened. Our Favorite Videos Gathered Dust. Her Small Apron Was In A Box In The Attic. Her Shoes - The Sparkly Ones, The Leopard Rain Boots, The Ballet Slippers - Stood In A Corner.