Page 2 of Carnival Pleasures

I know it’s selfish, but I didn’t want to come back this weekend. Not on the anniversary of my sister’s death. It’s hard coping with the loss of such a bright and beautiful light, as well as trying to comfort my mother. It’s not that I don’t want to comfort her. I just don’t know how.

I mean, what do I say? It’s not like I can tell Mum that everything will be okay. Kait’s gone. She’s not coming back. Two of the harshest facts we’ve ever had to face.

I knock gently on the door—Kait’s bedroom door—knowing what’s on the other side. The room has been left untouched, a shrine to my sister. Mum will be surrounded by photos of Kait spread over the bed. Kait’s soft stuffed rabbit clenched in one fist, hospital bracelets clutched in the other.

She doesn’t call for me to come in, but I open the door anyway, hoping the smell of fresh coffee will rouse something from her other than tears.

She barely acknowledges me as I place the mug beside her. “Morning, Mum.”

Dad has already left for work, his usual routine since losing Kait four years ago. He can’t bear Mum being like this. He doesn’t know how to make it better, I suppose. Because how can losing a child ever be made better?

Kait’s cheeky grin smiles up at me from a photo, and my chest tightens for a second.

She wouldn’t want us to be sad.

I pick up the photo, one that Dad snapped in the last few weeks of her treatment. I’d asked Mum to shave my head to match Kait’s, and Kait found it hilarious, claiming I had an alien head. Mum is standing in the background with the clippers and that sad, knowing smile on her face while her eyes are silently screaming, “Not my child! Don’t take my child!”

I place the photo back on the bed, wishing things were different. Wishing Kait had survived the brain tumour, wishing my Mum never had to grieve in the first place. Wishing she hadn’t lost herself to the grief. Because along the way, I lost my Mum along with my sister.

The one good thing about returning home for the weekend is that I’ll get to see Maddie. My best friend for more than half my life, separated by the different universities we attended. She always dreamed of being a nurse, and despite missing her every day, I know she’s happier for following her heart. Even if it breaks mine not being able to see her every day.

I grab my phone to type out a text. There was a time when we could finish each other’s sentences. Talk into the night about every little thing. We both wondered if we could be more than just friends but agreed not to risk our friendship.

God, I miss her.

I click Mum’s door shut behind me and head out. I can’t stay in here surrounded by memories of Kait, memories of happier times.

Happier times I’m not entirely sure ever existed.

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