Not just any sticker, though. A sticker my sister and her coworker had been working on designing together, right before she passed. It was a sticker to cover a dent in my sister’s water bottle she brought to work every day, and it incorporated ten different things—foods, fandoms, hobbies—that were emblematic of my sister. That coworker hadn’t been able to work on finishing the sticker until now, but she just did. And she messaged me a photo of it, asking where she could send one for me.
I immediately started sobbing.
And I don’t just mean tears came to my eyes. I mean I curled up on my bed in the fetal position and really let it come out.
The symbols baked into the sticker represent some enduring aspects of my sister since before she could speak. It conjures thousands of mundane memories growing up together. One part of it also reminds me that there were things she loved that I hadn’t really gotten to talk to her about as much. There were nooks and crannies in her personality that I lost my chance to explore. I can’t decide if the nostalgia or regret hurts more.
Then there’s the fact that the sheet of stickers I see in this photo has at least a dozen copies. This coworker said there are a bunch of my sister’s friends and coworkers that also want one. Again, these small reminders that people want a physical token of her bring me comfort, much like people wanting the lapel pins I designed did.
I suppose, after all, it’s more than “just” a sticker that reduced me to tears.
Unmoored Sister 