Had she lived, my sister would have been 36 years old yesterday. I hadn’t consciously thought about her birthdate in a while, but when I opened my eyes yesterday, it was the first thing that popped into my mind.
Connie Vonetta Emerson, born August 24, 1973, passed away on August 9, 1983 from complications related to lupus.
For many years, I used to get very sad around the time Connie passed. It took me a while to figure out what was happening, but when I did, it made perfect sense to me. Though we only got to spend 9 years (almost 10) together, my sister and I were pretty close.
Unfortunately, I’ve lost most of my memories of my sister. Once the funeral was over, my parents never again took me to her grave and we rarely talked about her in our house. Even now when I say her name out loud, it feels odd to me. Almost like she’s a stranger I’m struggling to remember.
I know I will never forget Alexander and I don’t want others to forget him either. I think that fear is one of the reasons I write. I want everyone to know about my sweet, loving, happy little boy and feel a long lasting connection to him. I only wish I had that connection to my sister. A connection beyond the knowledge that I have a sister named Connie Vonetta Emerson and my few memories of us together.
So, while I still grieve everyday for Alexander, I also grieve the fact I can’t remember more about my sister.