You went left and I went right as the moon hung proud and bright; you would have loved it here tonight.

It's your birthday again. I'm supposed to be getting ready to celebrate mine tomorrow, but I always find myself thinking about you this time of year. Birthdays, for many people, involve a same sex intoxication pre-game before meeting up with the opposite sex and heading out for the night. Every year I find myself thinking of a list of girls to invite over, and every year my list is capped at one or two - rarely any of which having been in my life for more than a year. It may be true that I've lived in over five cities from the time I was born until now, but I don't think that this is a good enough excuse for my lack of long-term lady friends. I often wonder if you leaving has kept me from savoring any other female friend relationship. I believe I was too young - barely fifteen - at the time to comprehend the significance of having you as a best friend/pseudo older sister or the impact losing you would have on my world. I always wanted to be just like you; you were so sporty, outgoing, smart, and beautiful, and you had an unforgettably bubbly, yet slightly masculine disposition. Even at Children's Hospital - where a strange ghostly skeleton sat in place of your normally healthy and athletic body - in such a paradoxically energetic manner, you told me about sky-diving, having sex for the first time, and finding a boyfriend with the same happy-go-lucky outlook.

I remember your slightly bowed legs. I remember when I got disqualified for false-starting at provincials, you hugged me tight against your navy blue aquablade cat-back suit and told me it was ok until I stopped crying. I remember I introduced you to riding and you fell in love with Castleman, a stocky dappled-grey gelding. I remember not being able to hold back my tears when Pastor Zook's metaphorical story depicted a girl approaching you on a rocky path, taking your hand, and leading you to horses. I remember how we used to scream "HONK HONK BEEP BEEP!" as we ran to the change rooms after practice. I remember watching Armageddon in your basement and breathing the strangely comforting old smell of your house. I remember talking about you finishing school when all of this was over. I remember you talking about taking dumps at school, "When you gotta go, you gotta go!" I remember when you dove weirdly into the pool one practice and came up laugh-squeel-crying that you hurt your tit really bad. I remember being excited to hear you were coming home, then feeling the walls close in when I realized it wasn't because you were getting better. I remember the way you ran all squirrely with your arms straight at your sides when you thought someone was going to slap your ass. I remember what you were wearing the last time I saw you: a black and pink TNA suit you bought in the size you expected to be when you got better. I remember the way you used to stick your tongue out just a little when you laughed. I remember my mom telling me the cancer had won.

I've often been asked why I don't act like most other girls - why I never complain or get uncomfortable in crass conversations or have problems saying what I really mean - and I've never been exactly sure how to answer. But now that I think about it, I act a lot like you. It's almost as if I've kept you alive by taking on your role as a versatile athlete, a big sis, and an all around cool gal; your memory lives inside me and I'm so fortunate to be able to share it with the world.

I miss you. Happy birthday, lovey.

I realize this song is about lovers, but it fell into my hands last night and I can't stop finding subjectively meaningful parallels in the lyrics.

"You were young, I was not old

But our story was not told

But torn apart by greedy hands"