My Dearest Sarah,
I began this day as your sister. I began this day talking with you, bringing you water, wiping your face from the fever, reading to you. I have ended this day alone.
Dr. Perry told us you had developed pneumonia and you were too weak to fight it. I don’t understand. You have always been the strongest person I know. You have always had such energy and I sometimes struggled to keep up with you. But then, I have always followed along behind you, haven’t I? You have been the finest of sisters and I can’t imagine being without you now.
Mother has taken to her bed and only cries. She will talk to no one, not even Father. He has locked himself away in his study. It seems they have forgotten I am here.
They came to take you away and I did not wish to unlock our door, but Adelaide convinced me that it was best for you. Only Adelaide was there with me to say goodbye to you. She is, as always, far more than a housekeeper.
Now, here I sit on my side of our bedroom. I look at your bed and your things, all in their proper places, and it is as though you have simply gone for a bit, perhaps to the shoppes, and will return shortly. But you won’t return, will you? I will never see you again. I cannot face that truth, Sarah. I simply cannot face never sharing our secrets and our deepest thoughts and wishes again.
I decided that I will pretend that you have gone away for a trip and will be away for a long while. I will be writing to you while you are away and that way, perhaps, I can function day to day. Perhaps eventually I will come to terms with your passing, but not soon. No, my dearest sister, not soon at all.
Your loving sister,