Publisher's Synopsis
It's been said that some families reveal themselves by the stories they hold onto, others by the stories they try to hide or forget. In 1964 my sister died suddenly. I was 6 at the time and she was 11. There was no funeral for her, no memorial service, no obituary, no headstone or marker. Nothing. As a family we all went on as if nothing had happened. For a long time-really most of my life-she was no more to me than a gruesome anecdote. I might have been content to go on this way had it not been for two separate yet related events: My mother's decline from Alzheimer's and the discovery of her diaries.
In my family, my sister's existence was basically obliterated, her life like a pebble dropped in the middle of the ocean. But one day, even the ripples from a pebble hit shore.
