The holiday season beginning with Thanksgiving and lasting through New Year's Day is nearly upon us. For many it represents family, friends, faith, and, of course, food. All good things.
For some, such as myself, it also represents a test: can I make it through this time without my sister? I suppose I will, for what choice do I have? I tell myself I should have a list of worthy projects, fulfilling projects, service projects. After all, isn't service supposed to ease heartache?
To an extent, it does. But only to an extent. I know, I know, we aren't supposed to have doubts that service dissipates pain and sorrow--it's practically anti-American and certainly anti-Mormon to even suggest such a thing. (Have you noticed that I've used the word "supposed" three time already? Those "supposed to's" in life can be real downers.)
But even with my list of "supposed to's," even with the help of family and friends and faith, grief creeps upon me. I think of Carla when I'm wrapping a gift. I think of her when I see little children giggling for we spent many hours giggling together as little girls and then as mothers and grandmothers of little girls. I think of her when I see a blue Subaru on the road--she loved her Subaru and even named her.
I think of her all the time.
Joy ... and sorrow ... for today: thinking of my sister. And remembering.
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