I still think about how much I owe to a child that has been dead for almost nineteen years.

If she hadn’t died, I would not live. My father would not be so shaken at signs of trouble. Everything would have been different. I would have had my own baby clothes. My playmates would not have been a year older than me. 

I would not exist if she (had) lived. There is no possible scenario in which I could have ever met my sister, and I think this is how the butterfly effect works and it scares me.

Katja. Wiebke. Hendrik. It’s the three of us, but her being alive would have meant it’s only her.