A Bittersweet Birthday

Today would have been my sister Stephanie's 46th birthday.

Because of her, everyone already knew me when I was a tiny new marcher nervously clutching my saxophone the summer before entering 8th grade, afraid of all of the intimidating "big kids." Those kids instead took me under their proverbial protective wings, for which I'm eternally grateful.

I would probably had a really difficult time otherwise, introverted geek that I was (and am), and perhaps I would have quit long before my senior year. Instead, the band became a kind of surrogate family that has been difficult, if not outright impossible, to replace in all the decades that have followed. In fact, my band friends are the main reason I still have a presence on social media. Again, all of this was because I had a big, cool sister who paved the way for me all those many years ago.

My sister has now been gone for nine years, and I often wonder what life might be like if she were still around. A lot of my modern memories are tainted with sadness, and though we move on, we never fully recover. Not really.

You can pave over paradise with a parking lot, but you'll always have the pictures.

In years past, I've said much on the topic of what I owe to my big sister, who left this Earth long before her time. I still can't believe that I, the awkward little brother, have now outlived my much cooler, older sibling. I mean, I'm cool and all, but I'll never be "Stephanie cool," and neither will you.

You kind of just have to learn to live with that.