Jessica grew into a fiery, curly-haired force overflowing with a lovely combination of sass and grace. She took to the arts and taught herself to draw, paint, and make comic books. I cherished her drawings and cards, and to this day, I still have one of her elementary school projects tacked up on our fridge.

I missed a lot of my sister’s formative years.

Knowing what I know now, would I have done it differently? Not just yes, a resounding, Hell, yes!

In my first marriage, I had a season of intense emotional pull that quickly faded into a routine of comfort. I had a few years of technically being together while also maintaining a vast distance filled with discontent.

I didn’t trust myself or my partner. This was a red flag that I deliberately ignored.

The last thing I was looking for while living in cramped corporate housing with rented furniture was another pet. I got home one evening, and my husband said, “I found a cat. I think it’s living in the bushes.”

A few days later, I walked downstairs and spotted a tortoiseshell fur ball sunning on the sidewalk. As soon as the stairwell door closed, it popped up and ran toward me.

In my adolescence, acceptance conjured anxiety and strife. Regardless of my thoughts and feelings, I was told, “Just accept it,” or discouraged from questioning through the silent treatment.

Our house wasn’t an environment of nurturing conversations. Important topics of where I stayed while she worked nights, to what I ate, or who I was friends with were off-limits to negotiate.

The day I met the love of my life, I was not at my best. I was in the midst of trauma — hazily walking around, teary-eyed, bumping into reality now and again.

My then-husband of nine years had moved out while I was on a work trip. I was reeling from the email he sent a few days later, stating his desire for a divorce.

My husband wrote me an email from his cubical viciously detailing years of resentment and his desire for a divorce.

I read the words as if they were a fictional story. Denial was my immediate defense.

I thought I could fix it and move on with our seemingly successful charade. And yet, he wouldn’t let me. He refused to speak to me or see me. He was done.