A Letter to Madeline.

Dear Madeline,

I used to not think about you much. But this last year, I've really thought about you a lot.

Our mother said she could never have a son, so when she was pregnant, she assumed she would have a daughter. She said she would called you Madeline, and you'd go by Maddie. We'd be Maggie and Maddie. She wasn't even far enough into the pregnancy to learn your gender, but I'm certain that you would be a woman.

I wonder who you would take after? We probably wouldn't have looked much a like, Madeline. I take after my father, and your father was a man named Tim. He was supposed to marry our mother but it didn't work out. Perhaps it was the miscarriage that made our mother leave him at the alter, or perhaps it was the fact that he wouldn't let me see the father who I look so much like, but either way, that's not the point. I would like to think you'd look like our mother. You would have olive skin, with thick dark hair and a small figure, a homage to our gypsy heritage. People do say that I look like our mother when I smile. I hope we'd have the same smile.

I'm sure I would have been cruel to you in our childhood. I've always liked attention, and I'm certain you would have been beautiful enough to take all my spotlight away, especially during my awkward years. You would even threaten the love of our grandmother, who, in spite of what the other grandchildren say, has always favoured me. You would probably look back on being a toddler with contempt.

I know you would love books, music and cats. Those are three things our mother taught me to love quite a bit, and I imagine you'd naturally take to them too. But I wonder what kind of music you'd like? Would you find my taste for foreign music strange or would you gladly learn pop dances with me and head bang to Japanese metal? Would you like alternative like our mother? Or would you be into things I've never gotten into? Would you like black metal, or trance, or disco, or doo woop, or jazz? Would you prefer short haired cats? Would you like Persians? What kind of books would you read? Would you read anything you could get your hands, which would be long and thin like our mothers I hope, upon? Would you read works of philosophy, or romance novels, or vampire stories, or fantasy epics? Or would you read only murder mysteries latent in sex like our mother?

Would you do well in school? I've naturally been smart (and as much as I would not like to admit it, I like when people let me know that) and wonder if you would do as well in school as I did? Would you fail where I succeed? Or the opposite? Would you be popular in school? Would you be my beautiful younger sister who outshone me when I was awkward and get your first kiss years before me? Would you play sports? Would you be a graceful dancer? Would you like sciences or maths? Would you be a virtuoso where I was a mediocre keyboardist? Would you have a beautiful singing voice? I imagine you would.

Would you like girls? Would you pull a me and develop crushes on anything that was remotely good looking and gave you the time of day? Or would you have more self respect than me? Would you wait for a handsome prince to sweep you off your feet? Would you date everyone in our high school?

Would you have my sense of humor? Would you be off the wall and ridiculous, or would you be like our mother and find humor only at the expense of others? Would you watch anime with me? Would you like movies as much as I do? Would you have my sweet tooth, or rather eat chips? Would you be vain or would you be lazy with your appearance?

But the questions I ask myself the most are naturally the most painful to think about. Both your mother and I struggle with mental illness. Would you inherit our depression and dysthymia? Would you be an insomniac like us? Would you develop something worse and be bipolar, or schizophrenic, or anorexic? Would the three of us lay awake each night and cry about where we went wrong? Would you hurt yourself like I did or would you take to the bottle like our mother? Would you not see doctors like our mother, or would you consistently see them with little to no improvement?

Madeline, I've had problems all my life. Our mother's depression has hurt me deeply and the father that we do not share has done his fair share of damage too. When I was fourteen, I was in an abusive relationship with another girl. I can only sleep if I'm drugged, heavily at that anymore. The only thing I find worthwhile are my relationships with others, which I have difficulty with. I have trouble distinguishing reality from what's in my head sometimes. I think I hear things and see things, but maybe I trick myself into them. That's what my father says. My father says a lot of things though, most of them very hurtful when it comes to this sort of things. Mental illness is a horrible thing. Madeline, I hope you would have not taken any of these genes from us. I hope that Tim would have given you a brain that had all the hormones in balance and all the crazies confined to their special section in the back.

Our mother is an interesting woman. She is complex, but she keeps herself as simple as she can. Her life has been quite sad. She never knew her father, and my father left her. Since then, she's struggled with depression. She's even attempted suicide and tried to take me with her.

During my formative years, our mother was a very good mother. Perhaps the times overlapped or my mind has shoved the memories together, but I remember her changing around the time she lost you, which places me at around four to seven. I wonder if she gave up being a mother at this time? I had felt when growing up that our roles were switched, and that often I had to take care of her. These days linger heavily in my heart, but I don't' blame you. In fact, I feel if you were here, I would do the same thing to you. As your big sister, I would prove quite weak and pitiful. This world has left me rather ragged, though I am only nineteen. I would look to you for strength, and you would probably end up taking care of me. I can almost see your dark features and thin frame comforting me in my bed right now as I cry to you about the pains I have in my stomach, in my heart, from my boyfriend, from our family, from our ever aloof cats. You would take it all in stride, and calm me down. Perhaps sing to me with the voice I dreamt of you having. You would tell me it would be alright and that you'd always be there for me. You would swear to protect me, but unlike the other few who promised that, you would always follow through. I know it's selfish, but I would love to have you here to cry with me on nights like this.

This letter seems sad, but I will end it happily. I will tell you that were you here with me, though I'd be very needy and it would be quite trying to be my sister, I would always love you, Madeline. I would always be proud of you. I would celebrate all your smallest victories and support you no matter what you chose to do. I would find you beautiful, and brilliant. Perhaps it's because I've been able to fashion you as I chose, but I see you as a perfect sister. You'd always forgive my lacking heart and you'd be a ray of sunshine in my life.

I wish you were here, Madeline.

With love from your big sister,
Margaret