n Sunday, I drove home in the midst of big fat snowflakes. The boys were chattering in the backseat excited about the prospect of building a snow fort despite the snow doing little but melting the second that it hit the ground.
Like so many times in the past month, I found myself realizing that it was another “last” in your brief time left with us. Last Thanksgiving, Last Christmas, Last Snow… Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I surreptitiously tried to wipe them away. The boys don’t know you are dying yet. They only have an idea. The older boys understand more than I give them credit for and maybe the baby does as well. However, at that moment, I keep the thought to myself. “It’s snowing, do you even know it?”
I caught myself for the rest of the day staring out the window silently counting the moments of our lives.
Bundled on the sofa watching a John Wayne movie with the boys..remember how Grandfather loved those? Remember how you hated how loud his voice was, and how I would hide from his dogs because they scared me all 15 combined pounds of them? Remember Abilene and Great Aunt’s house? Cherry sours, hot summers, and all the dried out Elizabeth Arden cosmetics that she kept in her guest room that I would smear all over my face at five?
Driving to a basketball game… remember those cold Decembers on the road to ski in Colorado? Remember when you took me on the Durango to Silverton railroad trip just the two of us when I was four? Remember the train being so cold that we could almost see our breath? Remember putting your arm around me and hugging my frail little body tight against the cold? Remember the Christmas that you came to Vail with your family, and you let me baby-sit while you went with mom and dad to a cocktail party at the neighbors? I was all of eleven, but you made me feel so important taking care of my nephew and niece that I loved.
Making dinner…remember when you came home from college, and you had your first apartment? Remember our sister only sleepovers? Remember me telling you that you sautéed mushrooms better than anyone? Remember around that same time when you took me with you to buy your first car…you met your husband that day.
Mom calling…remember how you told me that I should always remember the things that I have and be thankful? Mom told me that when she lifted the blinds to your room today (Sunday). She said that you saw the snow..that you knew it was there. We both cried tears of thankfulness.
Bedtime…remember how you told me that no one would ever love me as much as you because you were my sister? I love you, too. You may not remember, but I will remember for both of us because that is what sisters do.