Petty Differences, Borrowed Clothes

I’ve always been afraid.

She never is or ever was.

I was an only chid for five years until she arrived.

I did not immediately welcome her into my intact world.

It never bothered her because she soon clung to me anyway.

She was blonde and bubbly and made people smile including me.

I was dark and intense and caused others to worry, but never her.

In times of utter stress, she always made me laugh when nothing else could or did..

I remember she mentioned courage the last time we spoke.

It was unusual because she had never done that before.

Yet she told me not to fret.

“All will be well, “ she said.

For the first time I can remember, she made me promise not to be afraid.

That was the last time we spoke.

It was also the last afternoon she still remembered who she was.

Now she still remains calm and apparently, unafraid, but no longer knows her name or remembers she ever had an older sister

And I wonder.

Why we wasted so much of the time God had allowed us to share.

Petty differences, borrowed clothes, unanswered text messages, different perfumes, changing zip codes, all merged making an always complicated potpourri of communication never to die but too often to falter or lag behind.

Reassurances of love for each other often loitered unspoken in the darkening shadows of our complicated daily and distinctly different lives and time zones.

I know now that it may be too late.

The moon that cast its fragile silvery light on both of us for so long has waned without any warning and currently lurks behind heavy clouds.

If it does not soon re-emerge, I know evermore I will mourn the little sister who once made me laugh and I loved so dearly

And an older sister will forever more regret the borrowed clothes, unanswered texts, different perfumes and changing zip codes that once seemed more important than remembering to say, “I love you.”