I was 7 years old when we lost you. I remember that dad had gone back home to see if there was anything else he could do. I remember crying a great deal. I saw how sad everyone was and so I became sad. I loved you and still do. I never knew someone could love me as much without ever holding me or seeing me in person. But I knew you loved me because you’d call every birthday, or just to see how we were all doing. They say I look like you. And I don’t mind for the stories I hear about how sweet and kind you were make me proud. You saw the good in everyone. I’m proud to be named after you. I carry a great responsibility and I try to make you proud. I’ll never know what it’s like to be comforted by you, to go shopping with you or go for tea. I won’t know what it’s like to sleepover your house on the weekends. Or to see you during the holidays. I know that you’d be proud of dad and all of his accomplishments. I know you’d tell mom to make sure he stayed levelled. You’d make sure we’d be happy and okay. I miss you everyday. I sometimes get jealous of what others have because I wish I could have had that. Sometimes I’m angry at the world for not allowing me the privilege but then I’m at peace because you’re always on my mind. I miss you even though I never met you. When I see your photograph, all I can do is imagine. 


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