This Star Won't Go Out

I looked at the sunflower, and I felt you standing next to me, holding my hand. I blinked and you were gone, taking away my sadness and giving me hope. I can give life. I can bring color and beauty into this world.

I now carry you with me; you occupy the part of my heart that broke when you died. But dying is part of this cycle, this cycle of life, and while I am here on this Earth, in this temporary place, I want to do everything I can to encourage beauty and life.

This is what you have taught me, little sister.

—Evangeline

AUGUST 2013





Dearest Est,


I freaking miss you, dude. Things have been sort of, foggy, since you left us here on Earth. It’s lonely sometimes without ya. I don’t have you there to e-mail or text at 2 a.m. The prompt, genuine reply I would always get. So honest and real. It was easy to hear what you had to say, and to understand what you meant in the advice you gave. The way you would just look at me and say “Abby . . .” and I would know what you were thinking, and that you were right, obviously. I miss just talking with you. Telling you what’s going on, rambling about our boy or family troubles. Telling each other what was going on in our lives in whatever crazy country we lived in at the time. We lived apart so much of the time, but you were always there, always in my life, and I was always in yours. I really miss those nights of endless online games we’d play sitting across from each other in the same room. The hours of listening to music and playing Yahtzee until four in the morning. I miss all the laughing, and all the love. Lying in bed with you with the whirring of the oxygen tank close by, watching whatever TV show we were into, probably Gilmore Girls. And your kitties were always there; the connection you had with them, and with all animals was inspiring. Speaking of cats, did I tell you, I named my car Blueberry, after the infamous marshmallow white cat of yours, of course? She makes me think of you.

I miss the way you love and appreciate all the small things, and all the big things, around you. How much you love your family. I don’t love as easily and as big as you could. But I strive to be more like you in that way each day. You love with such ease. Such genuine kindness and acceptance. I see how simple it is. Maybe you were so real and honest because you knew you were leaving, it came naturally because of the cancer. Through re-reading all your e-mails and letters from before you were sick, I know that was just the way you were. You were a lover. A giver. I know it’s easy to talk about someone who has died so positively, but honestly, I don’t remember anything negative about you. Ha.

I wanted so much for you. I wanted the good things and crazy things and awesome things this world has to offer each of us. Your time here was cut too short. You would have been such a huge blessing here on earth. Done such awesomeness. You totally did, actually. And you continue to inspire hearts, which is truly special. For us especially; to see your whole life and story and love alive and growing through so many. It is natural and obvious that you are such an incredible influence. It shines through your life story. You’re still living strong, my dear. It’s too insane for my little human brain to grasp what a huge audience you’ve already captured. So incredibly cool. I wonder what you think of it all. Are you totally stoked by all of this madness? You must be so awed that you are actually an author now. You’re a pretty big deal kiddo.


I am listening to hear where you are.

Word. I’m listening to your old playlist. I do feel you and hear you. I know you aren’t gone. In the sunshine and the blue sky. In the wind at the beach. In the joy I find in the little things. The comfort of spending time with the people I care about. In dancing. I so wish we could dance together. I look forward to that. To dance, and sing loud, and jump around just me and you. Vang and I went and it was so much fun. I’ve been dancing lots, it feels so free and natural. I always feel you around me in the music. In the uncontained movements, in the smiles and talents of the musicians. In the freedom. I had so much fun in Oregon, and you were totally there. Enjoying each fiddle-filled note and each spin of the hula hoop. I miss hearing you jam on the piano; I’ll have to start again.

Then there’s the thought of us growing old as sisters. All having families and crazy insane lives. The thought of keeping it real as the Three Earl Girls. I’m sad we can’t make any more memories like that. You and Inka are so special to me, though, and I do have some pretty awesome ones. You brought us together, you know. You allowed us to be more real with each other and I am grateful for that. You are holding the family together. Just like you always did being the middle kid. Thank you for loving us each so separately but so entirely.