Well, here we are.

If I were to have a calendar in front of me, I would mark this time as one of two most dreaded days.

I remember some things so vividly, while more important things have somehow slipped away. I can’t remember your voice. 19 years.

I still carry around my emotional baggage, which holds my guilt, my fears, and my sorrow. We had so many good times…bad times too, of course, but I remember really only the good times.

So many stories, secrets, hopes and dreams, dashed away so quickly. I should have acted. I should have made time to go to the doctor with you. I should have demanded you be seen. The promise I made to you in the hospital room, as I hovered near your ear and played with your hair is still one that I hold to; though it has started fights and maybe handicapped him a bit, I continue to protect your son.

Oh, Amy, when he sings, and he thinks no one is listening, it is reminiscent of you. Not recording your voice is such a regret, but who could have known things would go so bad, so quickly.

I remember stupid things about the actual day, like the weather. On the day of your passing, it was beautiful. While friends stood next to you saying goodbye and weeping, I went and sat alone by the window. The sky had not one cloud in it. Your arrival in heaven was inviting. The day of your service, however, was cold…so cold, and rainy and gray. It seemed to match the occasion perfectly.

I miss you. Those words aren’t nearly as strong as the emotion behind them. I’m stuck in grief. I think of you and cry almost every day. I still want to pick up the phone to share some movie you’d like, or a random, “Do you remember when…”. Is there a phone in heaven?

In that hospital room, I whispered my promises in your ear. Did you hear them?

I am so proud being your sister. I pledge to make you that proud of me. And heaven better ready when my time comes…I desperately await our reunion.

I love you, my sister,