Important memories are kind of like photographs. When I was little I tried to capture my memories. Maybe I thought I could laminate them and keep them on a special shelf in my head. I would stare wide eyed until the image I wanted was ingrained in my skull and printed on the backs of my eyelids. My effort didn't stop the colours from fading and the corners from curling, but the memory would still be there, safely tucked in the photo album within my head. Just like any photo album some of the memories slipped out from time to time. Most of the time they slipped out when I looked at the 6 inch scar on my sister's scalp. The skin was taut and shiny there, glinting smooth and hairless beneath her frizzy brown waves, not the result of any horrendous accident, but of an operation. Most of my 'laminated' memories were to do with my sister's epilepsy.
I couldn't tell you much about the technicalities of frontal lobe epilepsy, but I could tell you what happened every time my sister had a seizure. Most of the time it happened at night. For some reason or another Sinead would wake up having an epileptic fit. I would wake up too, finding her jerking and grunting beneath her heavy quilt. I would sit on her bed, close beside her, and envelop her quickly with my arms. I would keep her head still as she caught my neck and arms, her breath hot and uneven on my neck for about a dozen long seconds. She gripped my arms tighter than what seemed possible for a seven year old. I kept my cheek close to hers so I wouldn't see her little face, the reddened skin and wild dark hair nothing in comparison to her terrified and terrifying eyes. Her pupils were like huge black holes, swallowing up the sea green of her irises. I whispered in her ear, hoping to God that I could coax her out of the unknown hell she was writhing in.
'It's alright, Sinead. You're alright. I'm here. It's alright,' I chanted over and over until her stiff muscles stopped spasming and the choke-hold she had on me relaxed. Sometimes she fell asleep straight away and others she tried to talk.
'A..Aisling. I...I'm scared,' she would stutter before I shushed her and told her to go to sleep. I'm a year and three months older than my sister.
I'm 16, and this is based on personal experience so..be nice haha.
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