When will being me, be enough?

                 If only I was her and she was me. Ah the
words I hear often. Sometimes they are retracked
but the hurt is there.

                 No, no I cannot be her. Never will, ever
be like her and yet we are the same blood. Fair,
light, dreamy, a peace around her. Yes we are
of the same family.

               Though why am I always shown as the dried
blood on someone shoe? Why am I always looked
at as the reminder that I lived and she lays in
sleep?

               Twas not my fault that she is gone. There
is nothing I can say to bring her back. Still I am
a constant hated reminder. Still, though I wasn't
even near nor there when all fell, I am still the
cause.

              How? Why? How does that kind of remorse,
grief help others in the family? Tell me please.

               Even now I am being reminded how
"Perfect" she was with all her errors, pains,
cruelty she still was an angel in their eyes.

              I understand. I get it. I realize the
pain being pressed. So now they must understand
why I hide, why I ran. I am, by no means,
comparable.

              Even as the tears create welted red eyes
I comprehend their anger, her anger so much
that choke on silent sobs.

              Am I ever going to be realized as being
alive in their eyes? That my name is Mary not Katy?
Am I?

            Yes that is why I walk strongly, silently hiding
my pain behind a smile because I know I can endure.
Every quiet sob that shakes my very being, every
harsh word said out of "love" I know I will be okay.

            The choking of dry gulps are soothed with
kindness of Jehovah's words. I can do this. I know I
am his daughter and that has to be enough.

             No I will never be my sister, I don't even
compare. I cannot even grace the same events,
memories or photos of her. Just as I can never
be the same as I was before. Still I don't try to
cry over my loss of a sister because I gained so many
more.

           Ah I am Mary, when will that be enough
for my mother?