For the first 40 years of my life, I had a sister.  Six years ago, in the earliest hours of a Tuesday morning, all that changed.  She lost her battle with breast cancer and I became an only child.  At the time, I grieved – but, not so much for myself.  I grieved for her children who had lost their Mom too soon.  I grieved for her husband who had been present since the time of her diagnosis.

And, mostly, I grieved for my parents who suffered the most unholy pain, the loss of their firstborn.

We were “as different as night and day,” and she would definitely have been “night”.  I often described her as a Dr. Pepper kid in a Coca Cola family.  Literally.  I was the one doing my homework and going to bed early, she was the one staying up late and sneaking out to meet friends.  Kim did stuff that never even occurred to me!  I was younger and in awe of her defiance and bravery.  And, when she got caught… Whew!  Even more so.   Our Mom says she paved every road for me and this is true.  I did my “younger sister” job so well — I annoyed her and tested her and tagged along with her and her friends.  She was one of the last to get a hardship driver’s license before the law changed and it became harder to qualify.  She was a freshman in high school.  I can only imagine the injustice she felt having to drag me out to lunch once I got to high school a short 6 months later with “her” friends.  She drove me back and forth to school and then to tennis practice.  She was smothered and aggravated by the responsibility of me.  I knew it, but until I got my own wheels, we endured it.  As sisters, we were very close at times, and then there were times I didn’t know where she was, emotionally or physically.  I still have the last email she ever wrote me.  I haven’t read it in a very long time, but I keep it because it’s one of the few things I have of hers.  She was mad at me.  She was tired of doctor visits and tired of chemo and radiation.  She was tired of not being well and felt unsupported by me.  This was where I failed her.  I didn’t have the skills to support her in the way she needed and she didn’t understand that I supported her and loved her in her journey.  Every. Single. Step.  I remember taking her to a number of doctor visits.  In between the exam room times, we would laugh and talk.  She could make me laugh like I have never before or since.  One particular doctor was in the Metroplex and we were driving from west Texas.  Out and back in one day, it was a LONG day.  We met up and she was late, much later than our agreed time.  She was carrying a Sonic bag and a big Coke…maybe it was a Dr. Pepper.  I don’t know.  Anyway, there was just barely time to get there with a quick stop – I’m thinking for lunch.  She wanted to stop by the Harley Davidson shop to look around…so, we did and if you know me, this proves how much I love her because I just don’t skip meals.  What I do remember about that trip was the drive home.  We had one of our laughing marathons and I laughed so hard I was crying and trying not to drive off into the bar ditch.  I am so grateful for that time with her.  One thing that continues to surprise me is how jealous I am.  When friends of mine post pictures on Facebook or Instagram of “Sister’s Day” or my Mom and her sisters take a “Sister Trip” I feel that nasty pang of envy.  I want MY sister.  I want to take new pictures and share new laughs and go places with her.  I want to call her with a memory only she and I share.

I want to ask her about some small detail that eludes me that she could always recall.  I cannot change this reality so, I focus on the old pictures, the happy memories and send of prayer of thanks for the years when I did have a sister looking out for me.

She loved sweet tea, Thanksgiving (which she referred to as “Christmas without the crap”), being a nurse and her kids.  My goodness, she LOVED her kids.  She claimed to not be a “dog person” but she was kind to all my animals and took in strays, of both the canine and feline variety, regularly.  If you were ever in a street fight, you would most definitely want her on your side.  I made better grades but she told me once, well after we were grown, that her IQ was higher than mine.  I believe it, too.

We have a wedding approaching.  Kim’s oldest will marry a wonderful man next month.  I’m grieving now.  I have grieved her at Thanksgiving’s and Christmas’s and birthdays and graduations, but I wish she were here to celebrate this with her daughter.  With me.  With this family that would not exist were it not for her.

She knew how to be brave.  I saw it.  I will honor her and be brave, too.