Bittersweet

Today is my eldest sister’s birthday. I wish we could share a slice of cake and laughter, but she passed away. I’m the youngest in a large family, and I’m slowly but surely being left behind.
 
It is bittersweet. I’m happy family members and dear friends are no longer suffering but sad they are no longer with me. We lose part of ourselves with the passing of others. Memories fade and eventually there is no one else who can remind us of past shared moments. No one who stood there waving us off on our first date. Who held us during our first heartbreak.  Who encouraged us when we doubted ourselves. Who celebrated our first job, danced at our wedding, and held our newborn babies.
 
This is why stories are so very important. It’s a chance to pass on our unspoken hopes and quiet turmoil. To expose our inner beauty and express our desire for the common threads cherished by humanity: overcoming our weaknesses, finding redemption, acceptance, and happily ever after. Our written thoughts still murmur after we are gone with each chapter whispering of our lives.
 
I just baked my sister’s favorite cookies, a tribute to her memory. I’ll take some out to the garden and enjoy the passing breeze, admire the birds, laugh at the chipmunks, and read my newest chapter aloud to her. I think she’d like that. Happy birthday, Sis.