Tomorrow is the 11th anniversary of Marguerite's death. 11 years. Eleven years. It doesn't matter how I write it. It doesn't seem right. I lost my little sister 11 years years ago. 11 years ago my little sister was stolen from this world. It has been 11 years since I got to hear her dirty wee laugh. Eleven years since I heard her utter 'il y a beaucoup de fleurs' Eleven years since she announced that her drink was a vodka and orange and 'go easy on the orange'. How can it be that long? Sometimes it feels as though it were just yesterday. Sometimes it feels as though it was all a dream. Sometimes it just doesn't let me feel. I guess death is a little funny like that. When I was moving to Aberdeen I found a letter that I wrote to Marguerite as she lay in her casket. I made her promises. I promised her so much. It has been 11 years and pretty much most of those promises have been left unfulfilled. Some of th