My Sister, Pam

© Heather Summerhayes Cariou Her hands were larger than mine; her heart too, for that matter. She was twenty-two months younger than I, but her life was shorter. She was my sister, Pam. Her long, bony fingers were clubbed at the tips, with splayed, purple-tinged nails that suggested the lack of oxygen in her blood. Her palms were...

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My Sister, Pam

Her hands were larger than mine; her heart too, for that matter. She was twenty-two months younger than I, but her life was shorter. She was my sister, Pam. Her long, bony fingers were clubbed at the tips, with splayed, purple-tinged nails that suggested the lack of oxygen in her blood. Her palms were salty. She had “Sixty-five...

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