Eleven Months Ago

A lot has changed in the last year, year and a half, and ultimately since March 17, 2021, when my older sister was diagnosed with cancer two days after my 22nd birthday, and two months before I graduated from college. She wasn’t able to come to the ceremony due to her chemo treatment. Thirteen months ago today, my mom went up to New York to take my sister to New Jersey for total brain and spine radiation, and I followed shortly after. Eleven months ago today, my sister passed away from her battle with cancer. Ten months ago, Mom and I drove a U-Haul from Brooklyn to Denver, with all of my sister’s furniture and belongings. Six months ago, I celebrated my birthday without her for the first time. Four months ago, we celebrated her birthday without her for the first time. 

Now, almost one month ago now, my parents put in an offer on a house in upstate New York, and got it. There’s been an offer put in on my childhood home, and by Christmas of this year, my parents will no longer live in Sewanee, Tennessee, my tiny mountain town that I’ve called home for so many years. Aside from the year we spent in Australia, I have never lived in a different house with my family. My sister won’t have a room anymore, not in the new house. She won’t see it, and she won’t be home for white Christmases or hot summer visits. There won’t be input from her about how to decorate, which my parents would have welcomed. My mom and I always commented on how good she was at interior design; she could pick out pieces of art that looked completely different but somehow worked perfectly next to each other.  When we lived with her during the last couple months of her life last year, she ordered beautiful artwork and frames, and we hung them up together. Well, Mom and I hung them up while Alex lounged in her comfy beige, plush chair and told us what to do and when we were doing it wrong. That’s how the last month or so worked, but we did everything she wanted us to happily. As long as we were spending time with her, it really didn’t matter what we were doing. 

I’d be lying if I said it won’t be weird not having a home base in Sewanee anymore. I know I’ll always have plenty of places to stay, just as I do when I come to Brooklyn, but it will never be the same (not that anything ever will be). There won’t be anymore brisk morning drives to the view points, wiping perfect dewdrops off the windows so we can stay inside her blue-grey Honda Accord listening to music while we look out at the valley.

Our house was never my favorite place when I was growing up. I knew it was pretty big, and I liked that it was blue, but that was about it. For one, we never had fast internet (which my friends still love to remind me about), so we couldn’t stream anything. I’d like to point out that this rule never stopped my stubborn sister for running out the internet usage and pissing Dad off. Besides the internet fiasco, we also lived outside of the one-mile Sewanee campus radius, the University domain. It was exactly a seven-minute drive to the college campus, which was where most of my friends lived. I never wanted my friends coming to my house for sleepovers and play dates. I always wanted to go to theirs. I admit that this changed a little as I got older and most of we did was just hangout. My senior year of high school, my parents and I hosted all my friends for dinner and photos before prom. When we came home for breaks during college, we would hangout on my porch, or in the “tv room” as we called it (it’s a room with a big tv and a couch). I began to grow an appreciation for my mom’s garden in the front, my dad’s photography that line the staircase and walls, and my sister’s love for going through old photo albums.  

I never used to like New York City either, even Brooklyn (please don’t be mad). I found it crowded, anxiety inducing, smelly, and not fun. My perspective has completely changed. Unfortunately, it came after my sister had already passed, despite her begging me for years to visit her more often and even live with her. Now, I find myself daydreaming about living in Greenpoint and Williamsburg and Clinton Hill, near all her closest friends and favorite restaurants. I know my way around the neighborhoods exponentially more than I used to, I find myself less scared to walk alone, and I actually know the names of bars and restaurants in the area too. I feel myself channeling my inner ABC. I feel her live through me and in me in more ways than one, as cliche and cheesy as that sounds. I don’t think the move to Brooklyn is in the cards for me as of right now, but who’s to say where my journey will take me in a few years. I can say that I do find myself excited for my parents to live upstate so I can be in the state more often. 

Upstate will be good for us. Mom will still be able to have a garden. Dad will be near his brother and a lot of his friends (Mom has friends up there too). When I go to visit, I’ll get to go to the city more often to see Girlie’s friends, who are now my friends. We’ll have white Christmases and hot summers. We’ll be close to family that we love, and friends who we cherish. It will be a fresh start for us, a place to make new traditions as a family of three fully present people (we will always be a family of four). 

This year hasn’t been all doom and gloom by any means. It’s weird, because I’ve had some of the most fun I’ve ever had during this last year. I have made incredibly loyal, loving, hilarious friends that I know I will have forever. I formed sibling-like-bonds with each and every one of my sister’s friends, which i will never shut up about because it amazes me everyday how unconditionally they have accepted and loved me. I’ve traveled more than I’ve been home, exploring new places and discovering new favorite things about familiar ones. I’ve seen a butterfly or a rainbow every single day for the last 365 days. I have a lot of gratitude in my heart. For everyone who texts me or calls me every time I post a Instagram story of her or about her. I still get flowers every month on the 22nd. Flowers were her favorite thing to receive besides food, which I also get still (shoutout Sophie). Gratitude for those who have understood shown me grace. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, some more detrimental than others. Thank you for allowing me to continue to talk about her, post about her, write about her, without getting exasperated by my grief (or showing it at least). We’ve had dinners for her, thrown parties and celebrations for her, and have cried together for her. Her community stretches farther than I imagined possible, and it’s incredible to meet and speak to people who knew her in one of her many walks of life.

I know that one day, I will be okay. There is nothing that can happen to hurt me more than this, so I know that I can get through anything. I am proud of myself and for my parents for getting out of bed everyday (well, most days), and you should all be proud of my parents and I, as well. No matter who enters and exits my life, I will always have people who are unconditionally devoted to being my friend and making sure I make it through this. For that, I can never be anything but grateful and full of love. 

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