Anna, My Sister-Soul

From as far back as I can remember—perhaps three or four years old—my heart knew Anna. She wasn’t just my aunt; she was my older sister in spirit, the woman I adored and studied as if her life were a map to who I hoped I might one day become.

Anna was lighthearted and hilarious, the one everyone could tell anything to. She was always there—every season, every stage of my growing up. Her laughter rang like bells, and her love was never conditional. To be near her was to feel safe, seen, and deeply loved.

There are people in life who simply pass through, and then there are those who mark you forever. Anna was both my family and my compass. In her presence, I found not only joy but a model of how to be a woman—open, approachable, unafraid to live with both wit and heart.

And then fate, as it so often does, came without warning. It brought to her a terminal disease, one she faced not with despair but with grace, carrying her true essence even through the suffering. Her fight was quiet yet fierce, dignified in a way only she could embody. The loss of her has never disappeared; time has softened the edges, but it has never erased the ache. The grief still lives—diminished perhaps, but never gone.

The grief was double-edged: mourning her, and mourning the future of us together that would never be. I needed her every day then. I still need her. And yet, I know that her presence remains in me, because I carry every stage of our love as part of who I am:

• The child who Adored her.

• The sister who Trusted her.

• The woman who Leaned on her.

• The Mourner who still feels her absence.

Auntie Anna, you are still here. In my laughter, your spirit lingers. In my openness, your example lives. In my writing and remembering, you are honored. For me, in the realm of womanhood, you remain the one I always wanted to be.

You were taken too soon, but you gave me a blueprint for love that does not end, even when life does.