I Lost Two Sisters and I’m Not Sad

(Originally posted May 26, 2025)

I just found out two of my older sisters died last year. One in September and the other in November.

It’s just after 4:00 AM. I can’t sleep.

In case you’re wondering, I went no contact with most of my family 20 years ago, no contact with one of those sisters (the only one I still talked to) about 10 years ago.

I guess I know now why I suddenly couldn’t write and focus last Autumn. I had said I knew it wasn’t writer’s block but I didn’t know what it was.

In case you didn’t know, I’m an empath and have strong connections with people I would really rather never feel in my head.

In the past, I have known when a family member died. These were aunts and uncles. I felt it, did some snooping, and found out who died.

This time, I remember thinking around Thanksgiving last year that it felt like one of my siblings was gone. I tried to put it behind me because they don’t matter to me anymore. Haven’t in two decades, even the one I still talked to a bit longer.

In case you didn’t know because I never talk about it, my siblings were extremely abusive to me when I was a child. Physically, emotionally, mentally. As just an example, they each tried in their own way to kill me. The one who succeeded made me get hit by a car. I was clinically dead for a while, unsure how long. No, unfortunately she isn’t one of the two who died.

The one I still talked to for a few more years after cutting ties with the others is one of the sisters who died. She was 17 years older than me. The other sister was 20 years older than me.

How did I find out? I haven’t been to sleep yet. Around 3:00 AM, I had this weird notion to look up the oldest sister. Not sure why I wanted to, but I don’t question the random spontaneous urges of my inner voice.

First thing that popped up was her obituary. I took a deep breath as I looked at her familiar face, though definitely aged a lot since I last saw her. I read through to see how she died. It made no mention but it said she had previously lost her parents and one of her sisters, then it named the sister.

I took another deep breath. There wasn’t as much bad blood between me and the second sister as with the others, but I held onto a lot of the positive and ignored the negative for the sake of at least having one sibling to talk to. At least until she proved to have her own brand of psychosis that was really always there but again, I ignored it.

I opened the first sister’s “guest book” to see what others said about her. No family members other than her son. Several were posted and all were members of a religious Facebook group to which she belonged.

These people … What I read is proof positive you really don’t know who that person is behind the profile and bio they fill out to make themselves look spectacular to strangers who will never know their real story. One person after another (only 8) called her a saint and praised her as a wonderful mother and “a true example of what a Catholic and a Christian should be!” They gushed about how she honored them with her friendship, a woman as pure and godly as her.

I was horrified. This woman .. this epically insane person responsible for trafficking my third sister, pimping out her own children, and trying to have me kidnapped while creating the most heinous psychological games against me and my father .. was being hailed as the most beautiful soul any of these strangers could ever know, these strangers who lamented over never having met her in person and shared envy of her family for getting to know her and be near her.

Then there was her son’s guest book entry. He called her an angel! This boy .. my nephew who is only 2 years younger than me .. whose mother sold him along with his father to men for sex when he was a child and brought other men into her life after she was divorced, allowing those men to abuse her son and her daughter .. was calling this demonic creature an angel.

I just don’t get it. I know he didn’t forget what she had done. Because of the life she pushed her children into from birth, he ended up with a gang and was responsible for killing a college student, forcing that boy to kneel and shooting him in the head. The only reason my nephew only served 20 years was because he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger and gave the DA a lot of evidence and testimony against the other two who were there that night. My nephew was 17 at the time but tried as an adult.

His mother set him on that path, and he knew it. Psychiatrists tried to help him and my two nieces, even speaking to child protective services, but this is Louisiana. They don’t care about children there. There are more pedophiles there than moss covering the branches of live oaks. They look out for each other, so no, those kids never stood a chance.

Here he was, my nephew who is now in his 40s with a lifetime of memories no one should ever have haunting them, calling his sadistic, selfish, evil mother an angel.

I noticed the absence of his sisters from the guest book and any other family member, as well. One family member in denial and strangers who never got to meet the real woman behind that fake smile and bio that lied about her career were her legacy in that guest book.

There was the other sister, too, who only had one entry in her virtual guest book. It was from a woman she used to know many years ago but had lost touch with her. No family even though they all still talked.

You might think they just didn’t want to sign a virtual guest book, but no, this is my family. That sort of thing, like writing in a guest book, is beneath them, unless they know someone important will read it.

This sister wasn’t bad on the outside, not noticeably. You had to know her to understand just how mean she could be. She seemed genuinely kind hearted to everyone who knew her, but I and my dad knew her to be very mean-spirited. She was the kind of person who laughed when someone was hurt.

She mocked our mother in the hospital when my mom fell trying to use the toilet. My mom was in hospice dying of colon cancer. My dad and I arrived to find this sister in the hallway outside of my mom’s room laughing hysterically. When we walked in, my mom was on the floor crying and covered in filth from the portable toilet spilling on her. This was the kind of person my second oldest sister was. She put on the innocent and naive act so well, no one who knew her would have believed she did that.

It wasn’t the only time she treated someone this way. She, also, liked to play the manipulation game with the oldest sister. They were best friends and she would play the innocent peacemaker to set up the victim to be hurt by the oldest one.

It took far too long for me to realize she was the reason people in the family who were out to hurt me found out where I lived and how to contact me every time I moved and changed my number.

She treated her own daughter this way, but they lived too far away for me to be someone my niece could talk to.

To both, I say good riddance. I wish the third sister would have joined you or even had gone first because she has caused me the most trouble. At least the second sister won’t be passing along my information to her anymore.

I don’t know why I felt like posting this, but here we are. It’s 4:50 now. I don’t know if I want to cry or just go on about my life as if their loss was nothing more than a forgotten leaf blowing across the sidewalk.

I don’t know if I’ll tell anyone I know when we all wake up. I don’t know if it matters.

I think what hurts is that I lost two sisters and feel relief rather than sadness like anyone else would get to feel. I don’t get to feel pain for losing a beloved sibling. I can only feel pain that I didn’t have sisters who deserved to be missed.