Just the other day, I found myself thinking, maybe THIS summer I will finally have a chance to go up north and visit her in her new home. (New as in seven years ago now, and I kept promising, but there was always something in the way of my getting there.) Then I remembered, with a stab, that she is not there any more to visit, and my heart broke once again. Regret is a vicious beast, and like everyone, I have some where loss is concerned. There is always something more you wish for when you lose someone you love, and the more you loved them, the more you can think of, it seems.
Today, on her birthday, I am reminded once again that there are no guarantees in life. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. It can eat you alive. Living with regret is futile, a useless waste of emotional energy. Sometimes you cannot help yourself; perhaps it is a way of ensuring that you do better going forward. I wish I had hugged her a few more times. I wish I had seen her more in the last few years of her life. I wish that I told her I love her a little more often. The usual stuff everyone regrets, I am sure. But she is the last one who would have wanted everyone moping around. (I know everyone says that about people who have died, but trust me on this, Becky said it and meant it.) She would want us to remember her well, not badly. It seems like the least I can do to honor her wishes.
So, as my birthday present to her, I am remembering my wonderful, vibrant, fun, unique, sweet, endearing, and always calm cousin with great joy and laughter. Everyone loved Becky, because she was so loveable, and I am no exception.
Today, I am remembering how ecstatic I was the first time I saw her, a little doll that I got to hold (with help and some anxiety from the adults in the family.) She was so cute and so little to me, it seemed unreal that she would ever grow up.
I remember her incessant desire to play with Barbie dolls, and play house, and play in the barn, and play outside. I remember her ready smile, her giggle of joy, how her eyes lit up when she was happy about something.
I am remembering trips in the car, sitting three in the seat in the back of a sedan, arguing over who had to sit in the middle. (Okay, she was the youngest. Not gonna lie about it at this late date. It was usually her.) I am remembering a chuckwagon dinner, Mesa Verde, camping in a tent trailer in the cold and thinking we were all going to freeze to death while Becky was happy to finally not be hot. I remember a late evening in a campground, while the adults in the family tried to make this pop up trailer tent, which fit earlier in the day when they took it down, stretch over the frame after it shrunk in the wet heat. Becky, soft hearted as always, felt bad for them and kept trying to "help," while I was rendered completely useless from laughter. (Much to the annoyance of the aforementioned adults!)
I remember summer days spent on the farm with lots of cousins around, and New Year's at my aunt and uncle's house, everyone happy to just be together. We were surrounded by love and laughter, and the joy infused us all. How lucky we were to have those precious times together.
I remember her teenage years, when every time you looked at her, she would say, "Whhhhatttt?" Naturally, I would look at her even more, just to drive her crazy!
I remember how much fun it was to have her in the same town when I was in grad school, and we went to movies together, and hung out frequently. I remember when she first told me she met "someone" and couldn't wait for me to meet him. I had never seen her so radiant, and she was certainly right about him being The One.
Her daughter and mine enjoyed their cousin time when they were young, which gave us a chance to enjoy ours, too. One of my favorite memories is of Becky and the kids coming to visit us in Kansas, which they did several times. This particular time, they drove all day to spend the weekend with us, and it was so much fun. The kids were finally old enough they could have a good time together without constant supervision, and Becky and I had time to talk - a lot - and refresh ourselves.
Over the years, we shared a lot of life, some good, some bad. She told me things, I told her things, knowing they were safe in each other's keeping. I am certain she never once broke my trust, and I can guarantee I will never break hers.
I celebrate my memories of someone who always has been, and always will be, very special to my heart, not just today, but always. It was always going to be too soon, but I'm glad we had the time together that we did.
I am reminded of the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, T'is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. He was right.
