10 years

So, today was the 10th anniversary of my sister's death. I don't know why I feel the need to broadcast that on this blog like I did last year, but I guess I just want to shout out to the universe that this date hasn't passed by unnoticed by me.

Every year I call my mom on May 3rd. It feels like we are the only two people in the world who know what this date means to us. Heather is not forgotten, not by us. Sometimes my mom or I will mention her during the phone call, sometimes not. But I know that Mom is thinking of Heather just as I am on this day a week before Mother's Day.

It's been a decade since I've laughed at my sister's sarcastic humor, attacked her with my painfully tight hugs, and eagerly awaited a letter from her in the mail. Sometimes I feel like a jerk when I point out to others that I still miss her and love her as much as ever, like I feel that they feel I should just be over being sad already. But I can still hear her laugh and feel her love, and I know I'll never be done grieving for who she would have been today and who I miss from before.

I am now 26, the age Heather was when she died. She is my older sister no matter what age I am, but it's strange that she'll always be frozen in time for me at that age. When I'm 50 with wrinkles, I'll still remember my big sister as she was in 2000, a young and happy 26-year-old growing into herself and her life.

Life is so short, and it's hard to believe I haven't seen my sister in ten years when she's still such a part of my world and who I am. These are the years my sister was given; these 26 are what I've been given so far, too. Ten years ago I got a phone call that made me wonder how I'd ever be able to wake up the next morning, breathe in and out. Here I am, still standing, and so is my mom. I feel like love is an incredible thing.