LITTLE SISTER

Another year's gone by and here I sit thinking about you on your birthday. You'd be 32 today and of course I'm doing like I always do, going over the things I would say to you if you were here. I'd want to tell you how much I miss you, and how you are still a part of my day, everyday. I wonder what your life would be like. I'm sure you would be married with kids of your own. How many? Two? Three? Can't imagine four! You would be a good mom, a fun mom, and I'm pretty sure a bossy one as well. I would tell you that some years are easier than others and that this year is harder. I see so much of you in my Kaylee. She loves to be outside, just like you, having (or making) an adventure out of everything. She is independent, sassy, and sure of herself, just like you. The older she gets, the more I feel you around us, in our lives each day. I'm grateful for this, but it makes having you gone even harder. And Brit... you wouldn't even recognize Brit! He still remembers you a little bit. He remembers when you would sit him on your lap and put your hand out like a lever. Then tell him to flush the toilet while you let him fall through your legs, and catch him at the last minute. He has your same hands, and your nail biting habit! If you were here I'm sure we'd talk about all the funny stories we have together. The kids love to hear those stories. I'd remind you, of course, about how you would sneak out of the house stark naked when you were three and run around to your heart's content (or until you got caught). Your long, blond, hair trailing behind. And I'm sure you'd remind me of my less than humane babysitting tactics. And I'd want to tell you how much I cherish the hundreds of times I had to get up earlier in the mornings to do your hair for school. I know at the time I complained, and maybe even pulled your hair too tight on purpose a few times, but it was a time for us to have together. And when it came time for me to do your hair that one last time, I was so careful not to pull, I was so careful. I'd tell you how I've felt cheated sometimes that we never got to be moms together. I don't get to hold your little ones. But mostly I feel like you got cheated. I know, I know, you wouldn't want me to be angry after all this time, but I don't always get to choose what emotions I have. I know you wouldn't like it that I get sad and cry when it's your birthday, but if you were here, I think you would know that it's just part of what we do... the ones left here to miss you. Besides, I'm not always sad. I think you would be happy that I have such a great life and a great family. So many times I've thought about how easily life just flowed for you, and how much more good you could have done here. While I've spent countless years trying to come to terms with my limitations, and overcome my many demons, I've thought about how the world needs more people like you still in it. But maybe you would take small comfort in knowing that when you left, some of you stayed here with me, and I've tried to cultivate those parts in me. You have helped me to keep moving forward. And your leaving taught me to cherish every day I have with my kids, and Jeff, and the other people I love. I believe I am a better mother because of it. Before you left, I couldn't have imagined anything worse. Although I still don't think there are many things worse than losing you, I have come to understand that I am stronger than I thought. And I am always going to miss you, I am always going to cry on your birthday, but I am okay.


If you were here, maybe we'd lay upstairs in that big bedroom, on the full-sized bed and just talk... you know, like we used to? About boys, and school, and clothes, and horses, until I finally realized that I was the only one still talking, and you had drifted off to sleep at some point. And then I would pull the covers up around you to make sure you were not cold. And I would reach over at least a dozen times to pinch your nose closed so that you would stop snoring. Then finally I'd roll over, and we'd sleep back to back, me always having to touch some part of you, to make sure you're still there. My little sister.