She was my sister.
I looked up to her all my life.
We fought, we laughed, we sang together.
She commandeered my junior guitar and taught herself to play.
She danced. She leapt. She never looked left or right - only forward.
We shared everything -- bedrooms, clothes, shoes, friends... Heck, I even introduced her to her first husband when we were still in high school.
We canoed. We hiked. We chased sunsets, birds and bears.
We watched a thousand frogs cross a road on a rainy night, and laughed hysterically when one of them hopped in place in the middle of the road, illuminated by Peter's Volkswagen bus headlights.
Little did I know back then that a rainy night and headlights would take her from me. Two weeks ago, my sister ventured out into a stormy night on a country road near her home. She was hit by a car while avoiding another that was approaching from the opposite direction.
Many will talk of her accomplishments in musical theatre. Her selfless work helping Indigenous youth find their own paths through art and music. Her contact with royalty and Justin Trudeau. Her amazing works of art in oils, acrylic, multimedia. Her amazing dedication to our M'ikmaq roots.
But she was my sister.
I'll miss you, Sisty. But you will always visit me in my dreams.
