|Laura and me as tiny tots. Approximately age 2.|
November 10 marked since months. Since months since my dear cousin lost her battle to melanoma. And for days leading up to this half-year mark I thought about what I would write. I made mental lists of all the things that have happened in six months. But when I sat down to write them it just felt like she already knew them. Even if I'm not an overly religious person, I can admit that I do talk to my cousin, do tell her things and ask for her guidance. Because it's been half a hear, and I can still see the last big smile she ever gave me without even closing my eyes. I can stop for a moment and still hear her boisterous laugh, or even better, her goofy voices and imitations of family members.
So even though I thought I'd have a long list of things I'd say here, I have none. I can't put into words how strange it was to finally reach my 30th and know that no future years will be shared. There is no mention of the funny stories I'd tell her about dating through the spring, the summer and the fall. No reason to feel sorry that we never did get to go on a trip to celebrate that milestone, no chatting about the upcoming family wedding. Because she just knows.
Even if there is nothing after all of this here. I know that I still felt her arms around me as I wept a little on the couch during my last night as 29. How I knew in my heart she was sitting on the couch with me, crying a little bit too. And laughing at how quickly time passes.