The rock where my sister died dominated the landscape like a giant defrocked mushroom.

My parents were standing beside me, waiting for my response as I looked up at the seaweed and the striations. I wasn't sure what they wanted me to feel.

"It's cold," I said.

"We were just up on that ledge," said mom. "The tide was coming in, but the sun was setting and we wanted to watch it."

"Thought we'd just wade back to shore afterwards," added dad.

"But I lost my balance and slipped. Pregnancy does that to you sometimes, messes with your inner ear. I landed on my hip and got a bruise this big." Mom drew an outline on her side. "A three-week reminder. Made it hard to sleep in more ways than one."

They wanted me to say something, so I said, "I would've liked an older sister."

I hate it when adults cry.