Written for the September Writing Prompts by Putting My Feet in the Dirt: the absence of her.

As I am writing my memoir, I cannot help but remember my sister. Her name was Joann, and she was the strongest person that I have ever known at a compact 5 feet, 2 inches  tall. She was two years older than me in age, but dozens more years older in experience and trials. She was the one constant in my life until I was 21 years old, for she was the only person who never left or abandoned me. It is the absence of her that I still feel so deeply, nearly 46 years after her death.

When I was about age 9, I asked her if she was my mother, for wherever we lived, she was always given the tasks of taking care of me. She bathed me, fought my battles…