See, throughout my life I've found myself wondering
Hello...can you see me? Do you remember me?
Ironically, this didn't happen nearly as often with friends as it did with some of my own family members.
It hurts to have to beg to be a sister. I just wanted to be a sister. And of them all, one chose me. One chose me as his sister and he was my brother and we were family.
He left this earth far too young and I was left emptier than before. I miss him.
I hold his journals among my most treasured possessions. Sometimes I bring them out and read them just to feel close to him again, to hear his funky laugh, to hear him sing his deep, mellow baritone or make odd faces that made us all laugh.
The others are busy with their own lives. I understand. I'm not angry. But I do feel the empty where they should be, should have been all along. All along while I cried out mute like a bad dream where no one can hear and life goes on without noticing the need. A few years ago I stopped crying.
I hold my husband and my babies close and I bless God that they can see me and hear me and that they love me as much as I love them.
Love fills the empties.
They may not remember me, but I will always remember them. And I will always know, somewhere deep within where I still think about it just a little bit, the sister I could have been to them, given the chance.
In the end, if they ever do remember me, I pray they know that I loved them.
Because I do.
