Patti

20 July 2020: When I was a kid, I'd see my cousin Patti maybe once or twice a year. She was about 15 years older than me (she was my parents' flower girl in their wedding) and that chasm is a bit awe-inspiring for a kid. She was a grown-up or on her way to being a grown-up. She lived on her own, dated, and had a whole independent life that I caught only glimpses of. She always seemed so confident and pretty. She was effortlessly cool. 

Later, she got married, had three daughters, and built a life that included happiness and trials. She loved her family and her friends and animals. In 2005, she had a liver transplant, with the help of a living donor. That gift gave her 15 more years with her family. She got to see her first grandchild.

Patti died last night. It was too soon and I am filled with such sadness for Kenny and her girls and my Aunt Kathi. How do you begin mourning such a loss and go on? People do it all the time, but each time, it seems like such a monumental and impossible task. That absence that fills a room...

I talked to my dad last night and he sounded so tired. He was saying all the right and sweet things--how he tried to comfort his sister, how Patti's with "the angels" now. Of course, he's buried his own son, so he speaks from the kind of experience no one wants to have, much less share with their sibling.

As I think about it now, I realize the last time I saw Patti might have been at my brother's funeral. Saturday will mark six years since his death. Is that a long time? Yes and no. It's the blink of an eye and feels like forever.

So much loss and death lately. So much need for healing.