September 12, 2012

Missing my sister

Kim and me in a young pose

Today Kim would've turned 41. I would've teased her about another year over 40, "it's all downhill from here" and other expected small talk. I would've asked her what she was doing today and she'd respond: "Going out to sushi with Crystal" and then "I'm driving up to Dad's this weekend."

And I'd get Ella on the phone so we could sing "Happy Birthday" to her. Kim would ask Ella about kindergarten, and about her trip to Kennywood and riding the roller coasters for the first time, and the latest Magic Tree House book she's read, and princesses and jewelry and other girl things.

But none of that is going to happen, because she's gone.

So instead we'll go out for sushi this evening and talk about Aunt Kim and how much we miss her. And, inside, I'll get a little mad at her again for not taking care of herself better and leaving us. And I'll steel that resolve to keep going to the gym, keep riding my bike, keep leaving a little food behind.

And then, late tonight, I'll think about us growing up and how we always had each other -- through my dad being gone on cruise, and moving all the time to new schools and new neighborhoods and new kids. And just soak in memory for a little while, even though they're ringed with sadness. Because that's what we have.

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