The sound of my sister’s laughter. The way her eyes light up when she looks at her boyfriend. Her forthrightness, generosity, and boundaries. Her fears and awkwardness. The way she tells stories. How she must talk. The way she leans in and listens. Her love of animals and intolerance of violence. The best of my mom. The successful career she built like climbing stairs. The things that tried to break her. How she became better. How much she believes even though she’s not a believer. Her skepticism alongside openness. The best of my dad, too. Smarter than one imagines and blue eyes that invite a second look. Her practicality, maturity, wit, and wisdom. Her need to control. How she’s learning to let go. Her giddiness. Her newfound beauty and how her short hair becomes her. The memory of the girl she used to be and the life she used to live. The web of people in her life. Her consideration of others. How she says, “I’m sorry” too much, pays too often, and puts herself aside for others’ happiness. Her heart. The sound of her voice. How she calls my dog “Wiggle-butt.” How she’s always in my space when I’m trying to push the world away; she doesn’t let me. Her unconditional love for me, her sons, her deceased husband, and her new man, and wow—how she juggles. Her loyalty. Her rose-colored glasses, especially when she’s looking at me.