A Piece of my Soul: For Amy

Our hair flying, cheeks aching from laughter and screaming--the carnival operator with the greasy hair asks if we want to “go faster” and then throws it in reverse. 

Life happened to us that way, both of us gripping the railing on a ride we were not in control of—together, shaken and wobbly sometimes, but stronger and wiser, somehow.

Until you had to let go… way too soon.  

Amy, you were joy.  You were bubbles and butterfly nets.  I can still see your big blue eyes at times wide with gentle apprehension and the next moment tenacious and spirited.  My children delighted in your kindness and confidence--always playful, always patient.  Their Amy snuggled with them, gave big warm hugs and made them feel loved and appreciated. 

You wrapped presents in wads of tissue paper and covered the boxes completely with a thick, impenetrable layer of clear packaging tape.  But Amy-- you were the gift.

Amy, you were music.  Singing in the car, windows open, blaring stereo, we blocked out the world, so it was only the two of us…and Joan Jett.  The soundtrack of my youth is a compilation of  songs you suggested--poignant, retro, bouncy and sometimes hilarious. 

Now they remind me of you.

Amy, you were a quiet flower.  Beautiful with velvety pale skin and blonde hair sprayed stiff with hairspray.   Sometimes you went unnoticed in a room of clamor, but you, poised, were always eager to participate. 

Amy, you were pumpkin pie.  Home.  My touchstone. 

I see you now, in my dreams, as a little girl in a white dress, holding your arms up to both your parents’ laughing faces.  You were such a good daughter and sister, but you were an amazing friend.

You always looked on the bright side of life.  For many of us, you were bright as sunshine.

I miss you, my Amy.