Because I was ashamed of her.
While I obsessed over grades, scholarships, and escaping the cramped neighborhood we grew up in, my sister stayed behind cleaning offices, scrubbing bathrooms, and coming home smelling faintly of bleach no matter how hard she tried to wash it away.
To me, she represented everything I feared becoming.
Tired.
Poor.
Stuck.
And the cruelest part is that she loved me anyway.Eulogy writing assistance
Her name was Elena, and she was eight years older than me. By the time I was old enough to understand how exhausted she always looked, she had already dropped out of school to help pay our mother’s medical bills.
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