A Eulogy for My Sister, Patrice Marlene Damiani-Peters [Originally Written Sep 5th, 2018]

My relationship with my sister was - complicated.  The reason for any strain in our relationship is difficult to explain, not because I don’t understand it, but because it feels like blame shifting - as if it was someone else’s fault or beyond my control.  And even in the ways that it was, at times, beyond my control, I know in my heart there was more I could have done to maintain a relationship with my sister.  

The last time I saw Marlene was in 2012; that was 6 years ago, two break-ups ago, two moves ago…  At the time, things for both of us seemed so good.  We both had our own places, we both had relationships, we both had jobs, we both promised that we would build from that point on.  That whatever damage had been done, whatever time had passed, could be pushed back and we could start fresh, from that moment.  But life happened, as it does, and we both got busy and didn’t find the time.  It was a little over a year from our last meeting that I got a message saying that Marlene wasn’t doing very well.  At that time, in 2013 my brother asked Marlene if she’d be happier in California, that if he got a train ticket, would she take it and make arrangements to stay with family there until she got back on her feet.  It should come as no surprise to anyone who knew her that she took it.  It’s unfortunate that I didn’t get to say good-bye to her before she left, and that once she was settled in California the chances of us reconnecting became even slimmer.  I’ll regret those actions, my lack of effort, forever.  But, that’s not how I’m going to choose to think of my sister.  

I’m going to think of Marlene as the girl with big dreams, the girl who wanted to learn as much as possible.  The girl who unapologetically asked for what she wanted, whether it was asking dad to play hide-and-seek with us when we were little, or asking my brother to let her play video games with him even though she was awful, or simply moving out as soon as she graduated because that’s what she wanted to do.  The girl who encouraged me to write and to keep telling stories.  She was the one who told me to keep close ties with the friends I had.  She loved being a big sister, to me and and my friends and to all of her other siblings.  She taught me about astrology, personality types and love languages.  She would watch Fear Factor and teenage rom-coms with me.  I will remember how we took turns tickling each other’s backs, trying out face masks, borrowing each other’s clothes (mostly me borrowing hers if I’m being honest), letting her test out make-up looks on me.  I will remember her trying to teach me how to dance, her encouraging me to sing as much as possible.  I will remember the late nights of listening to Lifehouse and Tom Petty on repeat while we wrote or read in the same room without talking.  I will remember helping her make flash cards and helping her study for tests in classes I’d never take.  I will remember when I would sneak into her room and read her diary and think it was so boring I didn’t know why she wanted it to be a secret.  I will remember how she had a REO Speedwagon cassette tape in her car, and whenever there wasn’t a good song on the radio she would play “Can’t Fight This Feeling” and belt the song out at the top of her lungs, then rewind the tape so it was ready the next time the radio failed to deliver.  I will remember her as strong willed, determined to make something of herself, honest, loyal, loving.  I will remember the dreams we had when we were still in school, of how we’d get so much closer after we both graduated and became our most authentic selves.  I will remember how every time we got into a fight she and I would write letters of apology to each other to make up.

Marlene was an amazing and bright soul, and her death is still so shocking and unbelievable to me.  It’s so bizarre that, only about a month ago I started talking about Marlene more and more to people.  I started really thinking about how I would coordinate a trip to California and try to see her.  I wrote out a message of apology to her on Facebook messenger even though I knew she was probably never going to see it.  I told her that I finally understood what she had always tried to explain to me about life and love and that I was sorry for not being able to hear her before.  I was so lucky to have her in my life, and I only wish I’d recognized what made her so special sooner.

When I first heard the news two poems popped into my head that I feel she would have loved.  She was, after all, also the person who introduced me to poetry in the first place.