I wore the dress my sister hated to her funeral

Dear Delyara, My sister hated my yellow dress. Every time I wore it, she said it made me look like a curtain from a cheap hotel. She was cruel about fashion in the way only sisters can be cruel without damaging the love underneath. When she died, my mother asked us to wear black. I arrived in yellow. Several relatives stared. An aunt whispered that it was inappropriate. I almost went back to the car and changed. Then I remembered my sister laughing so hard the first time she saw that dress that mascara ran down her face. She had begged me never to wear it in public again. So I stood beside her coffin in the ugliest dress she knew I owned. During the service, grief kept trying to turn her into someone soft and perfect. People spoke about her kindness, patience, and generous spirit. She was all of those things. She was also impatient, competitive, terrible at apologies, and absolutely merciless about my clothes. I needed one thing in the room that refused to let death edit her. Afterward, my mother looked at the dress and started laughing. Then she covered her mouth because she thought laughter at a funeral was wrong. I held her arm and said, “She would be furious.” Mum said, “She would.” We laughed until both of us were crying.