Dear Maria,

I love coming home. I can feel you in all the memories. I see your photos, our photos, on every wall and shelf. I see your old toys and dolls. Your childhood treasures. You’re in the air, in everything, and it’s comforting.

When I’m out jogging in the cool mornings, on the path we’ve both run a thousand times, but never together, it’s like you’re always just beyond the next hill.

Except you’re not.

The songs from your wedding are like whispers in the rustling leaves from the evening breeze. If I strain hard enough I might hear it.

Except I won’t.

They’re memories. That you were here. That you loved and were loved. That having you as a sister changed who I was. That your life mattered.

I love coming home. I love feeling like you’re close, even if just out of reach. Even when that comfort comes with sadness. If losing you has given me anything, it’s knowing that I can hold deep love and deep pain, together, and feel both equally.

Until we meet again,

Jess