But even acceptance cannot heal the hurt in my heart and the longing that I feel for her. I look at my daughter, and at times I can see glimpses of my sister’s face in her, or I see movements and mannerisms that remind me of my sister. It is in these moments that I miss my sister the most. But I also miss her when I’m reading a book or watching a movie that I know she would have liked. I miss her when I’m riding the subway and some weirdo takes a seat next to me. If she were still here, we could have laughed about it. But she’s not, and acceptance has stopped me from cursing God about why He took her instead of me.
It’s been a long road to get to where I am now in my acceptance of her no longer being here. I no longer cry for her everyday or sit in a room catatonic with grief. But the pain is still there, dull, but ever-present. It is that same pain that reminds me, however, that she still lives, comfortably nestled in my heart.