My sister, Lise, was born May 11, 1987. She was the firstborn. She had brown hair and very tan skin, much like my mom. My grandma came down and saw her, with my grandpa coming down shorty after. My mom woke up in the middle of the night and felt something was wrong, but when she checked my sister and my dad (they coslept), they had the same cool skin temperature. Lose’ foot warmed up in my mom’s hand and my mom was relieved enough to go back to sleep. When she woke up that morning, my sister was blue. Four days after her birth, she died. The police were called and the paramedics told my mom, after relation the events, that she probably transferred her own body heat to my sister’s foot when she touched it. My mom probably woke up because my sister died, but didn’t know it at the time. There were only a handful of pictures ever taken of her. Two years later, I was born and my mom didn’t want to get attached to me until the exact amount of time my sister lived had passed. I’ve never met my sister, but I know her in my heart. While I was raised an only child, I’ve always had a sister. She shares a birthday with my grandma, the only relative who saw my sister (if I remember correctly), and she shares a death day with a childhood friend. She is the brightest star in the sky, looking over me.