Every year since Betty died, May has been a month of sadness.   Her birthday is May 27th, and she didn’t get to celebrate it for near enough years.   I miss her.  She was my favorite sister, the one who drove me crazy, the one I always knew, no matter what, that she was my best friend, and would always have my back.  I still cry, I still grieve, I still have difficulty accepting that she’s gone  – that I can’t pick up the phone and call her and talk about nothing for as long as it took.   I’ve forgiven her, for the most part, for breaking a promise – she was never going to go anywhere that I couldn’t come along, but she did.  She left me, left me here to deal with the other sisters, to mourn her loss, to miss her every day.

Poppa died five years later.  His heart was broken and he never recovered – Betty was his favorite.  He loved us all, but she held a special place in his heart.   He died in May.   Two days before Mother’s birthday, he left us.  His funeral was on her birthday – she said he made sure the family came together to celebrate.

May breaks my heart, every year.



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