This may seem strange since you passed so long ago when I was so young. Fifteen years is a long time and seven-years-old was too young for me to understand. Ten-years-old was too young for you to go. That's about all I understood--you were gone and you were too young to do so. I couldn't really cry because you were the first person I knew who died so suddenly. And you were so close to my own age. I couldn't wrap my head around all that.
I'm sorry I didn't go to your funeral. I really wish I had, because that whole bit just feels like this giant open ending to me now. I can't really explain it. I just know that I regret not really getting to say goodbye.
You were one of the nicest people I ever knew. You would have made a great mother one day. You were always taking care of Amy, Laura, and me when the family was all together. You tried to teach me to boogie board once in Nags Head. That was the difficult since I didn't really know how to swim very well. So you tried to help teach me to swim. That didn't work so well either, but I appreciated to effort. It's so unfair that you never had the chance to grow up, that the world never got to fully experience you.
I'd always felt a little connected to you (more than the whole cousin thing, I mean) because we shared a middle name. That seemed special to me and I liked it. I still like it. My middle name is even more special to me now, because it still connects us. That might sound weird, but it's true. Speaking of connections, did you know that on the day you died I got in a playground accident? My mouth hit another kid's head. My gum started bleeding and I had to be rushed to the dentist. It was the only time I ever had to leave school because of an emergency like that. Weird, right?
I miss you. I love you.