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Grief. For most of us, it becomes a state of being with little respite until sufficient time passes, interspersed with a plethora of memories that finally releases us to carry on with our lives. In its place remains a lingering sense that changes us forever, on occasion tossing us back into the deep throes of sorrow that can take hours, days, or weeks to free us once again to be able to carry on.
If only we could allay our sorrow with the comforting knowledge that our lost loved one would never have wanted us to suffer from their departure from our lives.
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We can ask ourselves, are we suffering due to losing them or for their loss of more time to spend on this earth? Perhaps in most cases, it’s a combination of both, especially when it comes to the horrific loss of a child, who’d yet to fulfill a life’s promise.
Frequently, we hear others say, “They lived a full life.” or, “They were old and it was their time.” But, comments such as these offer little consolation or comfort to those who have been left behind.
Regardless of one’s age when they pass, losing them is a sorrowful and profound experience. I am feeling this now, selfishly perhaps, that losing my dear sister Susan will become a part of who I am and who I will become in times to come.
For me, the hardest part right now is the heart-wrenching knowledge that she is no longer there, that I can no longer check the time difference to see when would be a good time to call and hear her voice. I called often over all these years while we lived all over the world.
The last time I saw her was in December, a mere eight months ago. I had made her a cheese pie (not a cheesecake), a favorite family recipe, and brought it to her from where we were staying with son Richard in Henderson, to North Las Vegas, a one-hour drive each way, visiting each day.
After spending a few hours talking and laughing, it was time for me to go to avoid rush-hour traffic on the freeway that passes by the Las Vegas strip. She sat on the edge of the bed and said, eyes filled with tears, “This will be the last time we see each other.”

I shook my head, as tears welled up in my eyes, “No, we’ll see each other again!’, I insisted, “We’ll be back before you know it.” With a huge lump in my throat, I hugged her goodbye, refusing to let go, while neither of us could hold back the sobs.
She was so right. On August 16, 2020, at 3:14 am, with her daughter Kely and our sister Julie at her side, she took her last breath. Julie and Kely told me that during the night, they were reading our most recent post to her when she finally let go.
The two of them have taken such care of Susan, providing her with love and comfort for so long, driving back and forth from California to Nevada. Oh, that I could have been with her too, holding her hand, giving her yet another dose of love.
But, that was not to be in times of Covid-19, not in this world, not in this life. I will carry on with the knowledge that I never hesitated to assure her of my love and devotion.

I could spend hours espousing the qualities and virtues of this kind, brilliant and interesting person, my sister Susan. But, I will leave that to our reader’s imagination, since it’s so easy to indulge ourselves in praising those who have left this world.
The secret is to indulge them in our loving perceptions while they were still alive. And this… I did, we did, as she had done for us. We left nothing unsaid. A few months ago, while she was still able to speak, she asked me, “Have I told you how much you’ve meant to me all of my life. Have I said enough?”
I assured her that every word of love she had spoken was taken to heart by me and by others she has loved and who have loved her.
Grief. In time, its rough edges will soften leaving behind those indelible memories that we treasure until our own time comes to fruition. May you rest in peace, my dear Susan. You will always be at my side.
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Photo from one year ago today, August 24, 2019:
The year-ago photo will be posted once photos become visible on all past posts. This is being worked on today. Thank you for your patience.

















































































































