I was out of my mind and forgot I started this

Hi Sharon, For some reason, I forgot I actually started this, and I thought this was something I'd been meaning to do. I kept thinking "I should start a blog of letters to my sister," and then could never make myself do it. Today I decided to do it, I came into Blogger to start it, and then saw I had done it.

You can't blame me, Sharon. I've been half out of my mind all year. I organize things, then forget how I organized them. I put things away, and forget where I put them. I follow up with people, forget that I did it, and follow up with them again.

I'll still call you every Sunday. It's just that I think about you all week, and I think about things I want to tell you, and then Sunday comes, and all I can do during our call is cry and tell you how much I miss you, or I zone out and start daydreaming about things. So it would be nice to just type these letters to you.

For instance, I don't know if I've told you during one of our Sunday morning calls that I can't bring myself to listen to music on the radio in the car. It's not that I particularly associate music on the radio in the car with you, but I guess too many songs remind me of the "Life Before." Most of them don't actually remind me of you, but they remind me of times when you were just part of my life, unquestioned. For instance, "One Headlight" came on in the background somewhere, maybe in a restaurant or something. It was a big hit around 1997, when I left Joe. I remember that song played on the radio when I drove back and forth from Fostoria to Bowling Green in my little red miata. Before I moved into that little house on Westhaven, I lived in your basement for awhile. You were there for me. You were part of my life. Those days, I saw you yesterday, I knew I'd see you tomorrow. Actually, you were living in Columbus, Indiana then, but I knew I'd see you on the weekend.

Remember when I visited you in Columbus, Indiana? Did I come two different times? I feel like we went to the Blues Festival twice, or maybe there was a concert in Indianapolis that we went to. I feel like one time I went by myself, and another time I came with Eric... I was pregnant, so we were married. Were you living in Indiana then??? But we stayed in a hotel. But I know I came on my own one time. You showed me around the town, showed me where you worked, and you even had to go to the dentist while I was there. And I feel like we went to a concert in Indiana, had to walk a long way to the car, and it might have been raining. Dang, why can't I remember?

I think I didn't catalogue my memories properly because I knew we had so many more to make. There was always going to be more fun with you around the corner.

And oh my God, Sharon, some of THE MOST FUN TIMES I've had in my life were with you. I wish I could thank you again for all the fun you brought to my life -- well, not just my life, but into all the lives of the people around you.

It's almost December. Last year at this time, we were talking about my visiting over Christmas. You were telling me how unbelievably tired you were. You just didn't feel good. I kept saying bullshit like of course you're tired, you've just come out of chemo, you've really been pushing yourself, etc. etc. etc. It made sense at the time. I didn't know some of your teeth had fallen out. I think you mentioned your appetite was off, too. Your healthcare providers kind of put you off as well, they talked about, oh, we'll look into it in January in your followup appointment... Why didn't they catch this? Why didn't they put two and two together? After you passed away, I found out that post chemo infections, deadly ones, are really a thing, and they must be caught early. Why didn't your healthcare providers say holy shit, let's get you in and get this thing under control?

Well, it happened, and it is what it is.

For such a long time, I would cry -- you, Mom, Dad, you left without me. You all left me behind. How could you? How could all three of you leave me behind?? I wanted to come too. No, I wasn't suicidal, but I wasn't particularly interested in living much longer.

And I have to say, Sharon, I'm not that interested in sticking around for a long time. If I could get a few trips in, and if I could see to it that Gary is well launched and independent, that would be a marvelous gift. I'm not entitled to it. But if I get it, I'll be grateful. And then after that, well, it's okay with me if I join you, Mom, and Dad.

But in the meantime....

So I booked flights for us to go to Japan in May. You were the first person I wanted to tell. We'd have had such great conversations about it!

We're going to Mexico City in February, and France in September. I wonder if those would have been our trips if you'd have been here. We probably would have tried to plan at least one that included you. Would you have come to Japan with us???

And finally, my hair is so short. It's probably as short, if not shorter, than yours was when I last saw you. I got my hair cut short several months ago, but it wasn't short enough. So I went back to my hairdresser and tried to talk him into taking more off. He took a little more off but refused to go any shorter. I finally went into a Great Clips walk-in salon (like Fiesta, remember that place?) and they whacked it off really well. And I went back last weekend and got it cut even shorter. I think it has to do with my grieving or something. When I divorced Joe, I got my hair practically buzzed. Remember Mohammad? When he went home, his dad died, and Mohammad shaved his head. Anyway, I think maybe I'll start growing it out in 2026.

I'll call you on Sunday. And in the meantime, if I have time and feel like it, I'll come in and write another letter -- if I can remember that this blog exists.

I love you so much, my sister! I miss you every single minute of the day.