My Sister Stormie

Liz Chandler
Nov 3 · 4 min read

It has taken me a while to say this, not because I couldn’t find the words, but because I found so many.
A million times I have said there’s no way I could live without you, and now I’ve been forced to. Navigating life without my sister Stormie is a nightmare that I’m attempting to figure out.

Stormie had something special about her. Anyone who knew her would say she had a heart of gold, was cool before it was cool, and could make anyone laugh. She had the best personality I’ve ever known and was just so uniquely unique.

I tried so hard to be just like Stormie my whole life. She was my ultimate role model (for better or for worse). In a lot of ways, she single-handedly shaped who I am today. There’s no way I could’ve made it through this life without her by my side.

I think growing up in different households for the most part made us cherish having each other as sisters even more.
We were continually so thankful that we had each other in this life and never took that for granted. We both thought having a sister was the best thing in the world.

Stormie and I were so similar and I think that deeply helped us continue through our struggles. We could relate on every level. We had the same health conditions, the same major back surgery, the same genes. A lot of the same pain and trauma all throughout our lives. The same sense of humor, same taste in music. The same energy about us. We were always told that we spoke exactly the same — people would guess we were sisters just upon separately hearing one of us talk. One day, we found out that we signed our last name identically, even though we weren’t taught how to write together.
We were always finding new ways that we were exactly alike and we loved that so much.

A few years ago, I cut Stormie’s hair. Her hair was long, almost down to her hips, and beautiful. She just wanted a trim, but me, having no training in cutting hair, ended up cutting it up to her shoulders. She didn’t get mad at me even a little. She was always level-headed and easily saw the bigger picture. And I think she just loved me.

So how do I stop thinking of my sister? Of the loss of such a special soul? How do you get over something as unforgiving and permanent as death?

There will always be a gaping, sister-sized hole in my chest. The feeling of not being able to breathe, my brain left useless and a knife through my heart. A ball of steel caught in my throat. This feeling revisits me almost every night. But my favorite is when you visit my dreams and I can hear your voice and feel your embrace again.

During your last moments, I told you it was me, your little sister, and a tear promptly rolled out of your closed eye down your face. In the moments you could speak, you repeatedly told me you loved me. And that you just needed a good, nice rest and then you’d be better. And that you needed a cigarette. But ultimately that, at that moment, you wanted to kill yourself.

Before my sister got really sick, she got better. She was a new, gentle and loving mom, living in a nice house just outside of town, going to trade school to be a medical assistant. Making the Dean’s List every semester. Unable to leave my oldest niece, Skylar, for even a day. (And the one time she did, with my mom and I, to go to a Royal’s game in Kansas City, was a ball of stress about it but still managed to be her fun self.) Stormie was a great person.

The cards dealt to my sister in this life were unfair. Many adverse predispositions and unfortunate events. It could have easily been me. It could have been anyone. I got lucky.

Addiction is a monster. It doesn’t matter how good of a mom you are, how good of a friend, how pure your heart is. Addiction does not discriminate.

If you or someone you know is battling addiction, please find someone who cares — and I can guarantee that there is so many people who do — and seek professional help and support from loved ones.

Liz Chandler

Written by

Journalist. Photographer.

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