Silent Birthdays

The Ache of Loving a Sister You Can’t Reach

Today is her birthday again.

I know the exact date without looking at a calendar. Some things just etch themselves into you. I wake up, go to pray for her, and there it is—another year where the words “Happy Birthday” sit heavy in my chest like stones I’m not allowed to throw. I type them out in my notes app sometimes. Delete them. Type them again. Then close the app and go make lemonade, because reaching out isn’t an option anymore and all I have left are these lemons. She asked me to leave her alone. And I’m trying—God, I’m trying—to respect that.

It wasn’t always this way. I used to communicate with her every day and she would communicate back with me each day. For years we were close as a brother and sister. We used to see each other often. Enjoy doing fun activities. I’d wish her not only happy birthday but wish her happy feast days, baptismal days, confirmation anniversary days - days she didn’t even know were happening that day until I’d wish it to her. It didn’t used to be silent.

But then came the end of her high school years and the first stretch of college.