When I think of my sister, I can still hear her saying, “I’m really proud of you, Bald Dinie.” That was the family nickname I earned after swinging excitedly in my baby swing. My family thought I was like the Great Houdini, and my sister Marisa never stopped using that nickname. Marisa and I were only 11 months apart, so we were often mistaken for twins.
We wore the same clothes, had the same friends, were even in the same grade. Of course, we fought like sisters do, but our bond was special. Along with our older sister, we grew up in a single-parent household.
Our mom worked hard to provide and did the best she could. On our first day of kindergarten, Marisa and I walked to school holding hands because our mom was already at work. Marisa wasn’t just my sister—she was my other half.
She had a heart of gold, and she loved her four children more than anything. Unfortunately, Marisa and I both struggled with addiction. She wasn’t someone who spent her teenage years experimenting with drugs however; she was introduced to opioids at around 21, and her addiction gradually took hold.
She was prescribed pain medication on and off for years, but the situation became much worse following a terrible car accident. After that, she had consistent access to pain medication, so the issue became a much more serious struggle. It was heartbreaking to watch Marisa struggle because addiction had already affected our family so deeply.
We lost our mother to addiction, and I struggled with it myself before finding sobriety. I knew how badly Marisa wanted to get better though. Marisa tried to get clean several times.
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