My Sister's Little Secret: She Drank Herself to Death

November 24, 2025

Kristen Crisp, Author

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

My Message To You

Stay close to your loved ones; they may be harboring life-changing secrets. 

Not Even Wine with Dinner (https://www.notevenwinewithdinner.com/) is a collection of bits & pieces about the perils of alcohol, remaining sober, and how we can all help each other just a tiny bit in what is a huge struggle. While I don't make light of sobriety, I've learned to laugh at my past drunken shenanigans, and some are too ridiculous not to share. In all seriousness, addiction is no joke. We all, whether an addict or sober, need to be open and willing to take the hand of someone we know and guide them through the journey of sobriety because recovery takes your entire life and is not for the faint of heart.

I only wish that I had something like this to read and listen to while I was hanging my head over a toilet, praying to God that I'd never drink again for the thousandth time.

These writings, podcasts, and webinars are to honor the memory of my sister Robin, who unexpectedly died of cirrhosis in May of 2022. I promised her and myself that I would not let her death be in vain and that I would try my hardest to help someone else not experience what we all did as a family.

This is my attempt to help save a life.

Stay safe, stay sober.

XO Kristen

When I walked out of the hospice facility on that dreary Sunday afternoon in Michigan, I knew it was the last time I'd see my sister. I opened the door to my rental car, sat down, and had a horrific, hysterical, ugly cry. The immense sense of guilt I felt then has never left me.

My big sister Robin was my best friend and mentor. We were 8 years apart in age. As a child, I viewed her as another parent and protector. She was the cool parent. As we grew older and the age difference became less significant, we became two adults who often acted like "a couple of morons," as my mom would say, but we grew even closer.

When I was 11, my parents moved us to Texas. Robin didn't come. She stayed in Connecticut with her partner, Patty, and eventually, they moved to Michigan. I was separated from my best friend, and it was devastating. I learned to make long-distance phone calls, which got me into a lot of trouble. Before cell phones and the internet, calling out of state was expensive, but I couldn't help myself. I needed my big sister, my bird (her nickname).

Robin was a successful woman. She earned her Bachelor of Social Work immediately after high school and began a long career in mental health. Over the years, she had amazing jobs with top state agencies. At 40, she returned to school and earned her Master's degree. She was academically gifted and a scholar in her field.

Everybody liked Robin, and that was important to her. She carried herself well, was good-looking, and had a very likable and funny personality. She had a handful of relationships over the years with women at her level of education and success. Life was good.

Until it wasn't.

Robin's Ovarian Cancer

In 2006, she got ovarian cancer. In 2007, she lost her executive job. In 2008, she struggled to find work, moved in with her partner, and became an instant step-parent, a role that had its challenges. She became addicted to prescribed Adderall, taken for ADHD, and began compulsively gambling. In 2011, her relationship ended badly, and she struggled to find work, make ends meet, and support herself. She went into a downward spiral.

She went from being a successful, intelligent, strong, independent, powerful woman to working what she would call low-rent jobs, living temporarily in a halfway house, struggling to find affordable housing, and making ends meet. As all this transpired, she struggled with many health issues as after-effects from her chemotherapy years before, or so we thought.

Although I spoke to her multiple times a week, we didn't visit each other as we once did.

Video chatting was in its infancy, so I didn't see her visibly. As always, I trusted her and gave her the benefit of the doubt when she told me her stories, tales, problems, and victories. I should've known better. I heard her crazy stories before and lived through several that turned out to be less than truthful. Nevertheless, she was my sister. I loved her and believed her, even after being roused by her wackiness many times before.

I always believed in the Bird.

Different Fathers

My sister and I have different fathers. My mother was married for a hot minute in 1959 and in March 1960, gave birth to my big sister. When that marriage failed due to the father's infidelity, my mother and sister moved in with my grandparents. For 3 years, Robin and my mom were a team, thick as thieves, and best buds, until my dad swooped in and whisked them all away. 

Robin and my mom had a bond very different from the one my mother and I had. We were close, but they were besties.

Missionaries In Guatemala

In 2020, my husband and I relocated to Guatemala to serve as full-time missionaries. My mother was deep in the throes of Alzheimer's disease, and my father was her 100% full-time caregiver. As I entered the border of a new country, my mother entered assisted living for her last year on this planet, and Robin, still struggling with her own life, was in denial about the state of my mother. Chaos ensued globally for our family.

As my mom's health declined, it was taking a significant toll on Robin. Because she had been an expert in mental health, she was convinced that my mother wasn't taking her proper medications and that her crazy behaviors could be remedied. She had convinced my dad of the same until I, the baby of the family, became the voice of reason. My mother had some form of dementia, and I had to scream it from the rooftops to get anyone to listen.

When my mom passed in March 2021, I knew it would have harsh effects on my sister. She was pretty repressed by this time, so I never heard her cry, and she would say things like "It's like water wants to come out of my eyes, and I can't make it stop." It broke my heart.

Robin's Decline

Over the last few years, Robin was always in and out of doctors' offices and hospitals. One major medical issue was lymphedema in her legs. She had constant leg issues after her cancer surgery, as most of her lymph nodes had been removed. She also complained incessantly of stomach issues. I was convinced she had ulcers because she was always so stressed out, but in hindsight, I was incorrect.

After my mom died, the phone calls from Robin became less and less frequent. She would text or call and say, "I need to talk to you, I have something to tell you," but then wouldn't answer. As her behavior had been odd in prior years, this seemed neither strange nor not strange. 

My dad and I were also both grieving, so the odd behavior of my sister went to the back burner. In February of 2022, my father received a call from my sister's roommate. Robin was in trouble. She was drinking a lot, her skin was yellow, and her stomach was distended. Oh. My. God.

As my father told me this, I immediately thought, "She's dying." I refrained from saying those words but instead said, "Dad, you know, that's not good. It sounds like she has liver issues". I knew what this meant. I spent the next 2 days trying to reach my sister to no avail. She'd answered the phone once and immediately hung up on me. I left numerous messages, repeatedly telling her that I knew she was having problems, we were here to help, and we loved her. 

On the third day, my dad received another call saying that Robin had collapsed and had been taken to the hospital. He called the hospital but received zero information. A few short hours later, he got a call back from a hospice nurse. Again, Oh. My. God.

He was out of his depth, so I made the worst call of my life. I began the conversation with "Why am I being called by a hospice nurse? What is wrong with my sister?" "She has Stage 4 Cirrhosis," she calmly replied. I went silent.

I don't remember the entire conversation, just that we had a barrage of questions, information, and answers flying back and forth to confirm my worst f**king nightmare. My sister was dying. Soon. She had approximately 4 to 6 weeks to live. How the hell did we not see this?

The following month and a half were the worst of my life. I thought watching my mom die a slow, goodbye death was bad enough, but this slapped that down like a champ. Total. Living. Nightmare.

At this point in her life, she had no tangible assets, but she also had no paperwork, no will, no Power of Attorney (POA), nothing. I thought the news of her impending death was bad enough, well, sister (pun intended), you ain't seen nothin' yet.

To make sure the state didn't take over her life, I had to embark on a mad scramble to become her legal guardian. Hospice visited her to see if she was cognitive enough to fill out a POA, but she wasn't. A POA needs to be signed while you're in your right mind, not when you get old or sick. Guardianship was the only way I could ensure she wouldn't end up in some hellhole.

Here's a little story I wrote about 10 Things You Should Do Before the Old People Police Tell You to Do Them. A POA is one of them.

My Life Changed Completely

My life underwent a complete transformation over the next several weeks. 

Attended multiple online court appearances with the Michigan County Court. 

Had to choose an assisted living facility, fun fact: there is nothing creepier than looking at online brochures of places your sister will go to die. 

Dealt with an idiot of a Guardian Ad Litem, the person from the court who represents the patient to make sure they genuinely need a guardian. I spoke to countless doctors and specialists to make sure she was, in fact, truly dying. She was.

I spoke to her on the phone several times before she was placed. She knew who I was and would sound coherent for a few moments, but then would make no sense. This is how she masked her impending doom. She would either text us, send us voice messages, or call us with short, quick conversations that always ended abruptly or with "Hey, can I call you right back?", and she never did.

She had Hepatic Encephalopathy (HE), alcohol/cirrhosis-induced dementia.

On April 6, 2021, I flew to Michigan to spend five days with her in an assisted living facility. While I thought dealing with her guardianship paperwork was the worst, I was wrong. When I walked into the room, she lit up like a Christmas tree. She was so excited to see me. I, on the other hand, was in shock. She looked 20 years older than she had the last time I saw her. She was bone thin and looked like a tiny child lying in the big bed.

I have to block out the image because it hurts too much to think about. For the next several days, I sat by her side, talking to her, recalling stories from our childhoods, and playing '70s music as she drifted in and out of consciousness. 

As she lay there staring blankly, I'd put my phone up to her ear and hit play. Once Dancing Queen, Rocket Man, Right Down the Line, or Turned to Stone started playing, her big blue eyes would open up, her head would start bobbing to the beat, and she'd sing along. Then she'd drift back into her pillow.

I never addressed the proverbial elephant in the room. As close as we were our entire lives, I didn't have the guts to say, "You realize you're dying, right?" It was just known and understood.

On the final day of my trip, I had to mentally prepare myself for what was to come. We spent the day like we had the previous four. Listening to music, feeding her bits of food and sips of drinks, watching mindless TV, and talking as much as she could function. When 4 PM rolled around, I told her, "I have to go, but I'll be back later." It was the worst lie I ever told. I told her how much I loved her, and she did the same to me. I gave her tiny frame the biggest hug I could without crushing her, kissed her on the forehead, squeezed her hand, stared at her blue eyes, and walked out the door, never to see her again.

Uncovering The Truth

When I returned home, I looked into a few things that uncovered the truth. A year prior, she had been to a cancer center for her leg issues, and it was noted that she had Stage 1 Liver Disease. "When asked, the patient insists she doesn't drink more than a few drinks on occasion." She knew there was a problem, but she didn't discuss it, address it, admit to it, or reveal it.

Instead of trusting me, her baby sister, her chicken (my nickname), the person she could've trusted more than anyone in the world, she chose to stay prideful. To keep it quiet. And knowing Robin, she hoped it would just go away, like our mother's Alzheimer's. It didn't. The drinking didn't kill her; her ego did.

On May 24, 2022, I got the call from my dad that she'd died. While I knew it was coming, it didn't matter. I fell apart. Hysterically. Unnecessarily, I'd lost my best friend. 

My Bird was gone.

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Kristen Crisp is a writer of stories on life, love, loss, liquor, and the daily struggles with sobriety. Her mantra is "Find Yourself and Love What You Find."

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