Today is the tenth anniversary of my sister Ellen's death. Here she is in 2002, flanked by me and my sister Jayne, in the front doorway at my Dad's house.
Like last year, the date sort of sneaked up on me. I feel like the survivor's guilt I experienced for a long time has abated. I'm no longer dreading the day for the week leading up to it. I miss my little sister, but I'm not... angry. I don't hate myself any more for living while she's not here. At least, I don't this year. And I didn't last year.
Like I said last year: I don't want this date to be about how sad I am. I want it to be about remembering her and acknowledging how much I miss her. I can do that without making myself feel like I don't deserve to be here. I'm not sure I do, but... well, shit, I have to make room for other people, they can make room for me.
I miss you, Ellen. I loved being your big brother. And I always will.