Empty Apartment

I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I had wished I could remember Lorraine.
The sound of her laugh, the smile on her face.
The only picture of my sister is a portrait in my Dad's office. I'm not allowed to go in there.
After Lorraine's death, my mother couldn't bring herself to see the photographs of Lorraine on the mantle and in the hall, they were a constant reminder of a young life, which was taken too early.

Lorriane's death affected my parents so greatly, that at present day, they continue to live their life on auto-pilot.
I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I was left at school after the final bell at four p.m., or how many times I was told to 'go play' when my mother was upset.
I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I got 'the look', the sympathetic 'poor dear', when we would go to see the people and friends who knew my parents, and could remember my sister.

I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I had wished Lorraine was here.