I Used to Be
An Ode To My Sister (March 1954 — June 2023)
Until last month
(and for sixty-eight years) I used to be Jennifer’s sister.
I always will be.
Now, only in the past tense.
I dislike the term, “unexpected death.”
Because can we
ever, really, expect it?
In my life, that answer is “no.”
We walked through loss together.
It used to be “we.”
I’ve lost my sibling,
my friend, my confidant
my rival, my role and
place in the family.
Gone, too, is any opportunity
to change the relationship.
I am sure there were fences to mend
and words to be shared.
I ask for forgiveness. For “what I have done,
and for what I have left undone.” *
We’d planned to travel together.
Maybe to even live together (don’t laugh)
and be doddering old ladies,
in the end.
I’d give anything to hear
her voice one more time.
Bossing me around, laughing and lecturing.
And here is how we all connect: each one of us used to be,
had the title of being, someone’s sister;
someone’s granddaughter; someone’s son; someone’s daughter;
someone’s niece; someone’s uncle;
and on and on…
Even though death comes, love never goes away.
What remains: I am (and you are) always a child of God.
