And a few side thoughts as well . . .

Thirty-three years. Gone in a blink. Today you would have turned 70. (The same age our grandparents were in their anniversary photo). Some people might think reaching that milestone is an achievement. From the time you and I first noticed the subtle curves and soft flow of our bodies and Mrs. Rosenberg walking out of the beauty parlor with her stiff new do the shade of blue, we swore we’d never get old. We cringed at the prospect of withering like grapes on a vine. Yes, you would have hated the idea of trying to put all those candles on a cake (another fat reminder). But considering you stopped aging long before you’d even get there . . . maybe not.

Maybe you’d insist upon throwing yourself a big bash. You certainly had plenty of friends who’d kill for an invite. Maybe you’d go for something more low-key where we’d meet in Chinatown or Little Italy after work, share a glass of wine, laugh at our wrinkles, talk about missing Mom, about how well my children turned out after all that shitty grief, before diving into a giddy gabfest about your namesake, Meghan, and that she was the best thing that ever happened to us.

I look at these photos of you and beyond the gut-wrenching missing part that never seems to go away; I wish we had more time to know each other as friends, not just sisters. I realize we show different sides of ourselves to different people; that’s just the way it is. It must have been difficult for you always playing the role of big sister. Being the one who took me by the hand, guiding me across patchy terrain, my protector, when you were just as scared.

I might not have told you enough how much that meant to me or gave you the credit you deserved, but I know you knew it. Just as you knew every day was a precious gift, and you weren’t wasting one second of it.

If anyone had figured out what self-love was all about, it was you, Marilyn. Maybe because you never got married or found a partner to share that tiny little bed with, or you were just smarter than most of us. You showered yourself with life. You understood that if something brought you joy; you were going to buy it (and in every color), and no one could tell you otherwise.

I’ve learned many hard lessons since you left. Have I come out the better for them? Would something else equally traumatizing have shaped me into who I am at this moment? All good questions, I suppose, with no real answers other than I imagine the load would have been a whole heck of a lot lighter and less lonely.

When we come into this world, we come in alone. We come in not knowing anything, a clean slate. Everyone and everything that happens to us has a purpose. And as for family, well, while it’s true we don’t get to choose those blood relationships and that we are free to create a family from scratch with people who truly have our backs, I’m so glad I didn’t have to look far to find you.

So with that, I raise my glass of wine to the heavens above. Happy birthday, big sister! Love you to infinity and beyond.

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