letters to my sister, one of many

i miss you. i knew i would, but it’s acute, knowing you aren’t near enough for a phone call. a google chat.

i was looking all sorts of things up, trying to make sure writing letters to lost loved ones isn’t a sign of cracking up. according to the internet, i’m not losing it. though if i go on WebMD and check, i’ll probably have cancer, according to their diagnosis.

a mutual friend posted a video on facebook that i wanted to share with you, and in that moment, i was overwhelmed. you’re gone. and it’s starting to sink in. veterans day was missing your usual gratitude and kindness – your acknowledgement of all our families have laid down for their nation. a wealth of history contained in a few sentences. i miss that.

christmas is feeling more and more precious, knowing that it was the beginning of our hope of glory. i know i’ll see you again, but there are long years until then. years filled with life and joy and hope and sorrow and all the things i know await. but i wanted to be old ladies together, not longing for you through years of distance. the guilt comes and goes – it arrives when i find a get well card i never sent. i constantly reassure myself that you knew how much i wanted you to be well. how much i cared. because that’s a fear. that it wasn’t enough.

it’s what keeps me awake at night, restless and not wanting to sleep. before, when i was up late for whatever reason, i knew where you were. you were attached to me by a long thread that led onto distant highways, and if i was awake, you might have been too. it was comforting, and i didn’t know how much it was until now. the surety that i could call and hear your voice. call and say i love you.

so here’s my i love you. i wish you could read this. wish you could see my attempts to find a suitable crematory urn, something that you would like – pink and sparkley. it’s not going well, but i’m trying to find it… i miss you sister. you would know exactly where to look, exactly what to say.

i’ve been listening to a song, over and over. it’s one you lived by. and i’m trying to as well. i miss you.

 

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what i’m holding on to

we said goodbye for the last time on wednesday afternoon. she went to sleep, wednesday morning, and never again opened her eyes on this side of eternity.

i don’t have the ability to say how much she was loved. so very very much. she was a connector, bringing people together across miles, across lines of religion and race and all the things that keep us apart.

i’ve got one voicemail saved of her voice. she was just calling to talk. to encourage, to lift up. to do all the things she did so well. so now, we’re without her, and i want to remember her as much as i can. but life continues, and i can’t sit in my room, holding pictures of her, and crying.

Marlene, i miss you. your hands, moving like birds when you put on hand sanitizer. the elegance of your movements, slowed by pain. your beautiful feet. they took the gospel everywhere you went. how beautiful your smile was. your adventurous heart, that found ways to shine the light in dark places. i miss chatting with you. talking about the football teams we cheered for. talking about old movies. just talking. i miss you. and i don’t think i’ll ever stop. i can’t wait to see you again, and i’m going to live my moments as fully as you did. or at least i’ll try.

i’m holding onto a song by sherri youngward. it’s nothing but words i need to hear. words i need to remember.