If dying was a miracle, my sister was a Saint.

I’ve started this letter so many times. Truth be told- it’s just too soon, too raw, too sad, too angry and too dark.

I know his much is true. The world has lost its brightest light.

My sister’s stage 4 journey was short and tortured. And still, she shined.

Through failed radiation and failed chemotherapy- she shined.

Through her struggles with immobility, and pain with every single step- she shined.

When I shaved her head for the first AND second time- she shined.

Through organ failure, surgeries, ambulance rides, days in noisy, cold, chaotic emergency rooms, ICU and hospital rooms- she shined.

But there was also JOY-

Stuck in traffic, with the radio turned up to 11- singing together to her favorite 80’s tunes (Me, way off key, MK- perfect!)- she shined.

Her last birthday- 58, too weak to leave home, with all her cousins surrounding her, bringing gifts of sequins and bling, Duncan Hines red velvet cupcakes- she shined

The Cyndi Lauper concert she told her oncology team all about – in a bright orange wig because purple was sold out - she shined.

In her favorite head-to-toe sequin gown- the one she wore proudly to my niece's wedding and the very same gown we sent her home in- she shined, she sparked, she was radiant!

The world has lost its brightest light.

As hard as it is to push forward with hope, her candle still burns.

We can do better- we must do better.

We must save other sisters, mothers, daughters, friends.

We must discover better treatments.

We need to offer more comfort, more dignity, more mercy.

A better hospice experience. For the Love of God, a better hospice experience.

I know dying is a miracle and I know my sister was a saint.

The grace of my heart. The grace of my life.

This ride’s for you Sissy- It was always for you.