Some dates don't have to be marked on a calendar for you to know they are coming. Some you just feel coming. Yesterday was one of those days. Yesterday was 10 years without my littlest sister.

She would be 26 going on 27. She would be a nice person. She'd live near a beach. She would be a cool aunt. She'd still be fast. Other than that I don't know what she would have become by now. She might have gone to culinary school. She probably would have gone to college on a running scholarship. But to me she'll always be sixteen, the last to leave the nest.

Luckily, the memories haven't grown dimmer. I just realize that, while close, the age gap and self-involvement was enough for me not to have had as many memories as one might like. Some of you have memories I don't have, because you were classmates or friends or had a different familial relationship.

The memories I wish I didn't have lie in a box. It's round and has clouds on it. Inside are newspaper articles, an audio tape of the memorial service, a few pictures, a couple letters Ben wrote to her while on his mission, stickers, artwork, a cd, her chapstick. I don't look through it often. Maybe two times in the decade that has passed.

Time doesn't really heal all wounds, it just changes your perspective of the pain. While sad to lose a sister, I think now how exponentially harder it must be to lose a child. This perspective doesn't feel like healing to me. Losing someone close is also a devestating reminder of our own mortality, and thus I live life a little more guarded, if not fearful of sudden tragedy. This might be normal as one matures and grows more aware of the bitterness in the world - but for me will always be tied to a day ten years ago.