Ten Years*

For most of you, today is just August 31, 2008. For me, for my family, for those who love her, it's ten years. The first few years after she died I approached this day with dread, and I couldn't help but count back the hours as if they were happening again (right about now I was getting the first call...right about now I was on my way to meet her...right about now I prayed over her body in the hospital). Every time I had to re-pack for another move and rifle through the sympathy cards and newspapers and other paper memories, every time I heard the words "car crash" and "fatality" in the same sentence, I would cry.
Time has healed a lot of that raw pain and for the most part I have moved past the tragic-ness of it. The crash, the fact that it was such an abrupt end to a life full of love and joy and youth and hopes and promise. I have finally accepted my life without her. And I cling to the things I can do, hold, remember - to still feel connected to her. Her picture is with me everywhere I go, and I know she watches over me. It’s strange… Back then, I was the older sister she looked to for guidance… I now look to my younger sister for strength and guidance.
Anyway, it all makes me laugh and cry at the same time. There's something about losing a sibling - the person who was there all your life, who could remember and commiserate or commemorate all those moments. She was my baby sister for fourteen years. I won't ever be over it. But I've learned to live with it.
I'm pausing to talk about her life and her death because although she is not here physically, she is always with us in spirit. She will always be remembered… I miss you, Sister. Deeply, terribly, painfully miss you.