(no subject)
Today is Erica's 25th birthday. I thought of it last night before going to bed, and since then I've had a vaguely sad feeling all day. I looked through some old photo albums and found this picture from one Halloween, I think 1996, when we both went as men. Aunt Josette got all bent out of shape and made Erica wear earrings and blush, as if people would think she was really a boy. Before heading to a party, we did a "Sears catalog photo shoot," with such classic poses as "Hey, look over there!" and "What time is it?"
I just really miss her, still. I think about how my life has changed in the four years she's been gone and how much hers might have. I'm 25, married, have a cat and an apartment, have just finished my first year teaching, and am planning travel and living in new places and countless adventures. She is forever almost 21, forever beautiful and kind and painfully alive in flashes of memory. I still remember fights we had when we were children, and when she got sick after eating handfuls of the wonderful sugar cookies my mother made each year for Christmas (and couldn't bring herself to make in the first couple of years after Erica died. They were always her favorite), and her joy at performing in a play I directed (and the joy of the audience - she was hilarious as a daft witch in a Robin Hood spoof), and when I saw her for the last time without knowing it would be the last time. We were both busy with college and all its related commitments, but promised to get together in the spring. Less than a month later, she was gone. The regret - we shouldn't have always said "soon, soon" - still stings, though not as sharply.
I just really miss her, still. I think about how my life has changed in the four years she's been gone and how much hers might have. I'm 25, married, have a cat and an apartment, have just finished my first year teaching, and am planning travel and living in new places and countless adventures. She is forever almost 21, forever beautiful and kind and painfully alive in flashes of memory. I still remember fights we had when we were children, and when she got sick after eating handfuls of the wonderful sugar cookies my mother made each year for Christmas (and couldn't bring herself to make in the first couple of years after Erica died. They were always her favorite), and her joy at performing in a play I directed (and the joy of the audience - she was hilarious as a daft witch in a Robin Hood spoof), and when I saw her for the last time without knowing it would be the last time. We were both busy with college and all its related commitments, but promised to get together in the spring. Less than a month later, she was gone. The regret - we shouldn't have always said "soon, soon" - still stings, though not as sharply.