Another Letter To My Sister

Two years ago this month, I heard your voice for the last time.  I hugged you freely, without having to maneuver around tubes and wires and a various assortment of doctors and nurses.  We laughed nervously and I whispered assurances to you that the brain surgery would go FINE and that you'd be better than ever within months.  It didn't exactly happen that way.

You are always - ALWAYS - on my mind.  I think of you when something funny happens.  I think of you when something crazy happens.  I think of you when I feel upset.  I think of you when I feel excited.  There is so much I want to tell you at all times.  I find myself still - STILL - reaching for the phone to call you so you can help me wrap my head around this overwhelming world.

I thought of you especially tonight at your baby's high school orientation.  Sprout is going to high school next year.  If you were still here, you would have called me and we would have talked for hours about how time has slipped between our fingers.  We would say that we couldn't IMAGINE that she's old enough - and what will she be interested to study?  When will she begin to date?  Where will her dreams take her?  And then you'd cry, but you'd smile, too.

Sprout is amazing.  You wouldn't believe how MUCH she has grown in two years.  She's as tall as I am!  She is independent, confident, kind, flexible, positive, and beautiful - just beautiful.  Like her mom.  She is thinking about becoming a cheerleader.  Also . . just like her mom.  Only you would really understand how foreign and terrifying I find the world of cheerleading. But I will encourage her and do what I can to support her, if this is what she wants to do. It hurts me to think about how much you would have LOVED this turn of events.  How easily you'd slip into the role of a "cheer mom" and attend every meeting and game.  You'd be able to fix her hair perfectly and you'd remember the name of each girl on the squad.  Every one.  I feel completely inadequate - there is so much she will have to do on her own because I am incapable of doing anything . . . . pretty.

As we know, time keeps on ticking (ticking, ticking.....)  I'll get through this - hopefully with minimal psychological damage to our Sprout.  As nervous as I feel, I look forward to the journey.  But I will count on your invisible, gentle guidance.  "What would my big sister do?"  I will do my best to keep a good sense of humour, no matter what happens.  I will try to remember to look up and keep things in proper perspective.  I will do whatever I can to make you proud of your baby daughter. And proud of your baby sister, too.

A Letter to My Sister

This time last year, things weren't going so well.  You were in the hospital, feeling frustrated because we had hoped to have you home long by now.  Your little gurl was about to turn 12, and there was no chance you'd be recovered enough for any kind of birthday celebration.  So we postponed it - thinking we'd have the biggest.party.evarr as soon as you felt well enough after leaving the hospital.

But, of course, you never did leave the hospital.
WHY didn't we have a party there in your room?  WHY?  Some balloons, a few presents, and a chance for your child to snuggle with you.  You were frustrated, but still smiling.  In two weeks, you would slip away from us, forever.  Poof.

So now, a year later, I am finally preparing for that "biggest.party.evarr."  Your little girl surely has mixed emotions, but does feel excited, overall.  As kids ought to feel when it comes to their birthdays.  We don't have anything extravagant planned, but I hope a good time is had by all.  And I keep thinking that maybe  - just maybe - there will be so much fun and food and family involved, that she won't feel the sting of your absence.  Which is ridiculous, I know - how could she NOT?  But maybe it won't feel quite so sharp.

She's a teenager this year.  Can you believe it?  She was only a year old when you moved to this opposite coast - clinging to you, all eyes and no voice.

And now!  Tall and confident and chatty!  You'd be so proud of her!  She's independent, appreciative, working hard at school, doing everything she can to help our family run smoothly.  She is as happy and sweet as can be with an incredible eye for detail.

I feel guilty, seeing your daughter sprout into such an amazing young woman.  YOU should be planning this party.  YOU should be hugging her and telling her how proud you are.  YOU should be decorating - one of your favourite things to do - and wrapping presents and helping her plan her birthday outfit, and thinking about how you'll fix her hair.  You should be regaling her with stories of her birth and babyhood and filling the house with your laughter.

There are countless ways I will never be able to match you.  I worry about these things.  I am clueless when it comes to food and style and I am almost gifted as a slacker.  I wish I could remember everything you've ever told me about her.  I feel like her entire childhood is fading away - leaving no record.

I feel guilty - but at the same time - truly thankful that she has joined our family.  I see you in her every day.  It's like having a small part of you alive and within reach.  When I hug her, I hug you.

I keep trying to remember what her tenth birthday was like.  What would you have changed?  I know you would have felt overwhelmed - birthdays always did that to you.  Money was scarce and there was a chronic lack of time and support.  Not to mention the emotional toll of time passing.  Would all of that have seemed trivial when exposed under the light of finality?  This thought keeps me out of the cave and moving forward, day by day.  "What if I am gone next year?  How do I want to be remembered?"

This time last year, things were downright awful.  But I cling to the faith that you are watching over us.  I cling to the hope that next year - things will be better.