My sister and I escaped our abusive parents. But then she died and their vindictive influence returned…
My sister wasn’t dead when the police broke into her flat on a cold night three years ago. Not quite dead. She wasn’t breathing or responding. She was lying on her hall floor, cold and still, but there was a tiny twitch in her jaw. It was barely perceptible, but it was something.
I waited outside with police officers who wouldn’t let me near her, then we followed an ambulance to A&E. The doctors told me she was hypothermic and they were trying to warm her up; when her body reached a normal temperature, they would try to get her heart to start. They tried, but it wasn’t working. They let me hold her hand while they tried for the last time. And then she died. She was 39.
Continue reading...from The Guardian https://ift.tt/2sokYhe
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