Today is the birthday of my oldest sister. She would have been 63 years old, which is mighty hard to believe. To me she is frozen at 25, the age she was when she died., or even younger since the very few memories I have of her lie in her teenage life, when she was my favorite babysitter.
And I can’t really say I know that much about her either, just the usual milestone information and a kind of idyllic remembrance of her that happens when the young die.
This is a photo of us – me about one, and her at 12.
I have always imagined that as adults we would be compatible friends. It’s a thought I like to entertain.