On September 12, a clerk somewhere in a state office administratively finalized my sister’s death investigation and triggered an envelope to slowly make its way to our parents. On September 16, it arrived.
There is not a shred of anything resembling empathy on the documents inside. Without preamble, the first line is just: “On September 12, 2023, the Cause and Manner of Death were amended on your late daughter’s death certificate.”
The cause is hardly a cause, though. It’s a medical version of the shrugging emoji, it feels like. “Cause: Idiopathic cardiac dysrhythmia. Onset Interval: seconds.”
Within mere moments, for a reason no one can explain, my sister’s entire being was wiped off the earth. She died because she died.
On September 26, we received the full autopsy report. It contained no additional information that would help me make sense of this tragedy. Sure, it laid out all the parts of my sister that were scrutinized, measured, dispassionately handled, and considered. It also forced me to really think about what physically happened to her body during that process, which was upsetting. And it left me with more questions than answers, which I had been bracing myself for all along, but still found tough to accept.
On paper, this is over. The bureaucracy churns on, and will spit out an updated set of documents that codify her death. In my body, my mind, and my soul, I’ve only lived the first chapter, and there is no “ending.”
Unmoored Sister 