I listened, but I didn’t hear anything the priest was saying. I’m not religious. I’m not interested in death or dying. What I am interested to know is why my sister felt the need to take her own life. How could it have possibly come down to this?

After the church yard emptied, a tide of black bodies spilling out to the cars beyond, I stood by an ancient maple tree and closed my eyes. An aggrandized sense of understanding took over as I placed my hand on the course bark. I imagined the arms of my parted sister. Deep crevasses and rough scars, open wounds and the rotting decay of the old ones. Long strokes, up and down. All vertical and with purpose, just like on the night they found her.

****