It still feels like yesterday.
I was sitting in my office, March 21, 2005, at The Belton Journal when I got a call that my sister wasn’t doing well.
She was in the hospital and expecting to have surgery the next day to have a tumor on her kidney removed.
Something had gone wrong and the doctors were calling “Code Blue.” At the time of the call I had no idea what that even meant.
I got up and went for a walk around the block, praying that whatever was happening would turn out OK.
By the time I was back at my desk the world had changed.
My sister was gone.
My friend, my partner in crime, my counselor, my confidant and more was gone.
It still feels like yesterday.
Maybe that’s why as I sat feeding my baby daughter yesterday, I half expected to look up and see my sister walk around the corner.
I half expected to hear my phone ring and see her name pop-up on the caller ID.
I still half expect to answer the doorbell’s ring and see her standing on my front porch with my boys running to greet her — just like they love to do with their Aunt K — as if she’s only been a way on a long trip.
Nine years ago seems like such a long time ago – and yet it still feels like yesterday.
We miss you Amy — always will.
