I don’t think I ever showed you that I cared. I mean, really cared. I helped you when you couldn’t manage the stairs or the slippery walkway or the cold. I held your coat for you when you couldn’t hold it and get into it at the same time. I sat with you when the kitchen was too loud and when I saw you wincing because the sun was too bright, I’d close the shades even though mom would come and open them back up. She’s always been weird about natural light. She also doesn’t always read people very well. I’m a good people-reader and I could tell you were uncomfortable. I’d kiss you on your forehead and tell you that you looked very pretty and inside, I was so thankful that he had you. Even though after you entered our lives, I didn’t get to see him as much. After that, when we’d come to your house, we didn’t always feel welcome. There weren’t gifts waiting for us like there were when she was alive. There wasn’t a chest of clothes that I could play dress up in and the stove I used to make believe with had been put away in storage. But still, I knew that you were permanent and important and because of that, I loved you. But I don’t remember if I told you that.
You fell the night of my rehearsal dinner and had to go to the hospital. You missed my wedding and I told you I’d bring the video over and show it to you because you heard that I was just beautiful. It was beautiful, but I never let you see it. I guess I always thought I’d have more time. I was always too busy to make the drive or to call and ask if it was okay for me to come over. And so, I never did. And I’m sorry.