I was going to write about what could possibly have made me stay up all night Saturday playing a Video Fishing Game.

I was going to write about the really cool new postcards at Mighty Big TV

I was going to offer a list of things to do while Stee was away.

But I don’t want to anymore. Seeing that Rob and Julie are probably having their baby today makes me even more bittersweet.

It’s my sister’s 21st birthday today.

And I feel like she’s leaving my life faster and faster. I miss her. I don’t even really know how to get in touch with her today to wish her the best. I hope to see her this weekend.

I remember turning twenty-one and just wanting to get away from my family and be my own person and do all of those things that are so great about being considered “an adult.”

But that wore off in a year or so, and I really enjoyed my time with my family again. I can’t wait for her to miss us. I can’t wait for her to want to be with us again.

What makes it worse is that I’m just thinking about her so much lately. I just want to know what’s going on in her head.

When we were little I would convince her that the pots and pans hanging on the kitchen wall could talk to her and would help her with all of her problems. We’d sit there every day with our peanut butter and fluff sandwiches, and I’d talk behind my glass of milk asking her what’s going on. At first she didn’t want to talk to the copper pot, and labelled the entire thing as “stupid.” But one day I named the pot Paddington, and from then on she’d chatter with the pot and talk about things she was worried about, toys she wanted, friends she had made, dogs she wanted to pet. I’d sit there behind my milk or my sandwich and I’d talk to her. We didn’t fight during those talks, because how do you fight with a pan? We were both very young, but we’d talk about things that we’d never talk about again. We’d talk honestly and openly, ignoring the fact that one of us was talking to a wall and the other was pretending to be a copper pot.

That pot doesn’t hang on my mother’s kitchen wall anymore. But sometimes when I come home to visit and I sit across from my sister and she’s got this look on her face like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how, I wish I could pull out Paddington the Copper Pot and let her just talk her face off until everything felt better.

Just so I’d know that she was alright.

I can visit all I want, call all I want, write all I want, but the truth is, she’ll see us again when she’s ready, and right now she’s testing out her limits. She’s trying to figure out her life. She doesn’t want me to be a part of it, and as sad as that makes me, I know that there’s nothing I can do about it.

So, Happy Birthday, Bosie, wherever you are.