My half-sister, Sylvia, passed away last night. “Passed away…” Those two words always give me pause. Sylvia is so much a part of the reason that I survived my childhood.

We’re sitting there–anywhere, the dining table, the sofa–and Brian says, “Why did you sigh?” and I shrug.

I lie along the top of the sofa (it’s wide, it’s sturdy) like the cats do and stare. A bit numb. Missing Sylvia. Not feeling like doing anything.

Sylvia was older than my mother when I was born, my father’s second daughter with his first family, the family that his marriage to my mother broke up. She was half sister, half mother to me. The most upbeat person I know. Or is that knew? When someone dies, does knowing them pass into “knew them?”

Oh, the minutia of it all.

I do know this: Sylvia will leave an unfillable hole in my life. As it should be.