Has it really been 11 years???

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 the promises were a wee bit ridiculous.

I promised her that I would go to all the places she listed in an essay she wrote.

I have since lost that essay/it was taken, but I remember at the time thinking that some of the places were a bit naff!

I promised I would try and wear pink for all the major events in my life so I could remember her.

Do you know how difficult it is to match pink when you are a red-head? 

The promises that really stuck out at me were about lifestyle. 

I promised to always follow my heart.

Instead, I closed it.

It is easier that way, less to break, less to lose.

I promised to always follow my dreams.

Instead, I tried to be sensible.

I stopped writing. I should never stop writing. It heals my wounds.

I promised to always remember the goodness in my days before I went to sleep.

Instead, I have let myself get wound up about ridiculous things.

I find myself tonight questioning a lot of my decisions.

It is as though I forget just how fragile life can be.

I am feeling particularly lonesome this year.

Last year, I spent the anniversary with my wonderful Glaswegian boys and with my pal Craig.

This year, I am going into work for a couple of hours and then maybe hitting the promenade by the beach. It is cold, but it will be brisk. 

I might go to the cinema. See a few films. I don't know. 

But I will miss the hugs. Especially from my Weegies. 

It is the first hug-less anniversary in eleven years. 

That makes me rather sad.

I spoke with my Aunt Vera tonight for over an hour. 

I adore our chats, she cares so much about my well being.

She makes the insanity feel sane sometimes and has a wonderful ability to make me see light when I feel I am surrounded by gloom.

She gives me prep talks and tonight's one was particularly superb.

She told me that despite the negative influences in my life to date, I should be proud of myself.

I should never feel bad about myself or my decisions. She was rather insistent, and then told me about my care parcel she is preparing for me for Christmas (tayto, tayto everywhere!)

I thought about our conversation.

I thought about the last eleven years.

Perhaps I didn't keep my promises.

Perhaps I didn't do all the things that I have said I would do.

But I did many other things.

I built a life for myself that is full of friends, and self-appointed family.

I smile every day.

I try to help where I can.

I try not to judge.

There is one thing that I am taking away from me this anniversary year.

If my sister were here, and she saw me where I am,

She would tell me I am vain for having this blog.

She would tell me that I am shit at putting on makeup

She would give me the hug that I am so bitterly craving.

She would laugh and my ridiculousness and tell me that it is fine, at least there is one good sister.

And that for me, is better than filling any promise once foolishly made.

Promise.