A Silent Laugh & a Smile
“I threw everything we had together - the strong roots and stems and leaves and beautiful soft blossoms of sisterhood - into the earth with you. And I was left standing on the edge, so diminished by the loss that I thought I could no longer be there.
All I was allowed to keep for myself was missing you.”
Have you ever seen someone light up the room with their smile? That was my sister Becky. When she smiled, it was all happiness and teeth.
See? I told you. She’s the one in the middle — all teeth and happy. That’s our momma on the right. Don’t worry, she always tends to have “crazy eyes” in photos. We don’t really know why.
Becky would have been 29 years old today. That is hard for me to believe. There are so many things that she will miss. She will never turn 30. She won’t be here when her kids or her beloved niece and nephews graduate. She’ll miss weddings and reunions. Mercifully, she will not have to endure the pain of losing our parents. 28 is far too young to leave this world.
What would I say to her if she were here right now? Probably something similar to what I said when she was still in the hospital. I would tell her that I need her here because it is not the same at Mom’s house without her. I can’t walk into the back of the house without picturing her sitting on her bed, college books and papers spread out around her. I would tell her that I need to joke with her and tap her head because she uses an entire bottle of hairspray a day. I would tell her that we need to watch Empire Records and celebrate Rex Manning Day one more time. I would wait for her to do her impression of the T-Rex in Meet the Robinsons—I have a big head and little arms!
But do you know what I need the most? I need to experience Becky’s silent laughter.
The picture above is a perfect illustration of this. She would throw her head back, smiling, and open her mouth… and no sound would come out. It was hilarious and precious. It was almost like she was one of Jim Henson’s muppets laughing. It is one of the things I remember about her most.
That is what I try to hang on to when I think about Becky. Did we fight? Of course we fought. We probably had more animosity than most of the siblings. Why did we fight? Because we cared about each other, and each of us thought the other was being a damn fool at the moment. Does that matter now? Not even a little bit. As I sit here and reflect today, any anger or ill will I had with her previously is evaporating. Does it matter who won this fight or that fight? Does it really matter what either of us did or what we said? No matter what, we are still sisters.
I love you, Becky. Today, I hope we can celebrate your memory, and I hope you’re having cube steak and mashed potatoes up there in Heaven and silently laughing at whatever funny thing our grandparents might be saying right now.
