Rest Well, Little Sister

The rain won't come.
So I sit in the sun and
I stare into its light through closed eyes.
This is where I go for comfort
But there is none today.
You're not here, and yet you are.
Only yesterday I would have said the same,
And it would have meant something good.
But today I can't bring you closer
With an email
With a joke over the phone
With a trip to the east coast.
I could work through the Gone that
The miles created.
I could get past the distance.
Now I can only remember.
That will be good in time,
But now it just reminds me
That you should still be here.
My eyes are alight with brilliant red,
My mind with memories of you.

My "little" sister Lynda died on March 30th after a long battle with cancer. Ten years ago, the doctors would probably have given her less than a year to live. I am so glad they were wrong. Most of those years, you would never have known she was ill. Still, it doesn't do much to make it easier knowing she was only 38 years old and the mother of a young son when she finally passed.

I'll talk about her in a better light someday, I promise. Right now, I am just having a little trouble finding words to do her justice.