“Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.” – Aldous Huxley
One of the great mysteries of life is that the passage of time can seem simultaneously fast and slow. The six years between December 29, 2003, and the same date in 2009 is my personal proof.
I’m typing this entry exactly six years after I last saw my little sister. I’m struggling with words. I hate admitting the truth. I hate that because of an idiot drunk driver my sister didn’t get to have her 19th birthday. I hate how dark it is this time of year. I hate that she’s gone. I hate that she’s gone. I hate that she’s gone.
It seems like we were just playing Catch Phrase, quoting episodes of the yet unfinished Friends series or Dumb and Dumber. It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was telling her about this new band, Evanescence, that I thought she would like. I’m pretty sure six years ago today that I did my awful Jack Sparrow impression for her at least a dozen times. We probably jabbed playfully at our other sister at least half that on this day during her first college Christmas break. And I remember well her descriptions of a new boy she was sure would finally meet my strict standards.
In many ways, six years doesn’t seem long at all.
But sometimes I feel myself taking important things for granted again which would imply six years has been a lifetime in which I haven’t learned a thing about appreciating what’s in my life while it is. How can this be? How can I let the sun go down while I harbor anger or resentment toward loved ones? Or loathed ones for that matter? How can I excuse myself from visiting family and friends because of gas prices? How can I rank work ahead of playtime with my kids?
With uncertainty the only certainty, we would be wise to appreciate every moment we have, especially with those we love. Had I known my phone would ring at 4:30 in the morning six years ago with my other sister sharing what would turn out to be the worst news of my 27 year life, I would have hugged my baby sister that much tighter, told her I loved her that much more, and kept her under watchful eye for as long as I could.
She’s my company’s namesake and continues to be a muse to me. I miss her. I love her. I can still hear her, see her, and smell her. And at times I can feel her as if she’s been here the last six years.
But I’m still allowed to cry. Especially today.