You Should Be Here

Sometimes memories of my sister come to visit while I'm simply getting through the day. This evening as I was browning ground beef for dinner, I pictured her doing the same. She was standing in the kitchen at our church building, helping the youth prepare a spaghetti dinner. I could almost smell the garlic bread she'd have in the oven while joyfully encouraging everyone to participate. This memory returns like clockwork each time I'm cooking ground beef. Yesterday I braved the crowds during a bag sale at the thrift store since I was on a mission to find boots for someone. This brought to mind the mornings my sister and I would wait outside our favorite consignment store just before it opened on dollar days. We always had our game plan ready to grab the items we'd spied earlier in the week. I usually arrived just before she did and waited for her to pull up and wave with a wild grin. A few weeks ago, I borrowed a carpet shampooer to clean our floors. Even this mundane task was associated with memories of my sister. Each spring, she and I would rent a Rug Doctor together to tackle our carpets. Her labors were particularly arduous since she lived with three males who continually brought the great outdoors indoors. She would move all the furniture, clean each stairstep and shampoo inside all their vehicles. We would discuss the various shades of water we dumped with each cleaning, always thankful for a fresh new start. So, while there is the absolute heartbreak of knowing she is missing the momentous occasions like holidays and the new milestones of our boys, there is also the palpable absence of her in ordinary moments. I don't normally listen to newer country music, but there are words from a song that frequently come to my mind. While some lyrics aren't entirely relatable, I keenly feel the lines, "It's one of those moments that's got your name written all over it. And you know that if I had just one wish, it'd be that you didn't have to miss this. You should be here."