Goodbye

I said goodbye to my sister on June 3, 2007. It was expected, but not yet. It's always too soon. The pain she experienced shook my faith to it's core. Not only did I lose a sister, but a partner in crime from our younger days, a historian (one whom I could bounce memories off of) and a constant validator of my ever-decreasing memory.
Closing out her life has been difficult, in part because I shared her with an entire community. She was the champion of those who loved the arts, the last of the classical piano teachers in our area. Shoes I could never hope to fill. She was president of the local arts commission, participating in juried shows for youngsters who'd rather paint or draw than play on the soccer field. (Yes, there are some.)
She was generous to a fault; paying for services that every member of my family would have happily done for free. A lunch out was a special delight for all my kids when they were younger, and my girls especially as they got older.
But perhaps most significantly, the last of our family. The name we grew up with, the spelling of which changed with every generation, dies with us. There are no more relatives, parents, aunts and uncles. (Don't let me dismiss my cousins, however; they are numerous and have been albeit by email a constant support system throughout this ordeal.)
But as always, when we say goodbye, our mortality is left dangling by a thread.
Enjoy your most deserved eternity, sis.