Smart, beautiful, and sweet.
Humorous, fun, and daring.
Hard working, diligent, and thorough.
You have been a good friend.
And you are missed.
I never published that post, which was written probably around April sometime. It’s been over 2 years since my sister-in-law, my friend of many years, has died.
It’s still hard to write that word. It is still offending to use past tense verbs.
I saw Pop, Michelle’s grandfather, today. I had mentioned that my birthday was a few days ago. He asked me how old I am and we compared my age to “Babe’s”, (Pop’s name for M). He told me about M’s birthday, how she was late for her own due date. We chuckled over that, and I told him that it wasn’t surprising, her lateness becoming a character trait in which she was knit from while still being inside the womb.
But it bugs me. I don’t really mind getting older. I don’t mind my years turning over decade after decade. I don’t really mind the wrinkles at my eyes and the fact that my kids are a few inches away from looking down on me.
What I mind is this:
I mind M staying young. That we can’t see her grow older, decade after decade. That she will never experience wrinkles, or get her Master’s degree, or even have children. My age is ever increasing, moving forward. M’s is held fast at age 29.
I can see Michelle waving her hand down at me saying, “hey, don’t use past tense. Just because I’m not with you doesn’t mean I don’t exist! And what’s age anyway? Eternity measures no such thing.”
True true. Thanks for the reminder.