Joy drowned and died. But she was revived. From that traumatic event, she had a brain injury for the rest of her life and had to be cared for by our family 24/7. Yet this was not the first nor the last bizarre accident that happened to Joy. There was a firecracker that went off next to her chair when we were living in Puerto Ordaz, Venezuela. A construction worker who fell from an overpass, and a man who drove under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Her life ended in such a baffling way that, if this was a fiction book, the reader would throw it across the room for how unbelievable it was. But this is not fiction, it is the true story of my very unlucky sister.

But there was more to Joy than the tragedies of her life. Joy was my first best friend. She was an amazing singer, loved swans and the color blue, and became a Spanish Teacher. She was the first person I talked to about being queer. She was my confidant and my tormentor.

This is the story of our childhood split between Jersey Village, a small suburb just outside of Houston, Texas, and different locations in Venezuela. We grew up sheltered, in a conservative Southern Baptist household. It is about the love and teasing we shared as siblings, including our two younger sisters, Jacqueline and Jessica. It is about parents who were doing the best they could. It is about the joy and sorrow of life with and without Joy.