"She's gone."  "I lost my sister."  "Teresa has passed."  "She's d...."

Two months now and I still can't say the 'D' word.  It still seems so unreal. The text back in June saying she has stage IV colon cancer, not to call her now cause she just can't talk about it.
Finally talking to her after that news, where she was so positive... So prepared to fight and beat this monster. Yet also preparing for the worse. The phone call 6 days before her passing telling me the doctors had taken her off chemo, she was just to weak. She was only 77 pounds now. WHAT?!! My tall, statuesque TCee was withering away!  The text from another sister letting me know Teresa was in ICU with a ruptured intestine. The call from her husband later that same night. Teresa was heavily sedated, but we all believed she could hear.  He put the phone on speaker and laid it by her ear on the pillow... to say my goodbyes....That's when it hit. The realization that my TCee, the sister who always looked out for her baby sis, was slipping away.

The oldest sister was calling all the family to let them know about Teresa's passing the next morning. I was at work and kept my cell phone always nearby.... Except when I went to the bathroom. Then I knew. I just knew. After returning from the ladies room I grabbed my cell and checked for missed calls. There it was... only 2 minutes before. Missed call from Dianne. And there is a voice message. Screw that, I'm calling Dianne back. If this is THE call, I don't want to hear it from voice mail...."Hey Dianne, you called?"  Teresa had passed. 

I relive those times every damn day since. No one understands how hard losing my sister has been. I went through that first week alone. Didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone, think of anyone. Teresa was the first thing on my mind when I woke, and the last thing on my mind before I slept. My very vivid imagination was seeing her lying in the hospital bed, so thin and frail. Because we live so very far apart I wasn't able to be there, and I still want to kick myself for not flying to Minnesota when she was taken off chemo. She always looked out for me, now it was my turn to look out for her and I buckled. Will she forgive me? Will she understand? 

After that soul wrenching grief subsided a bit, I now imagine her healthy, happy, and whole. She is smiling, laughing (always laughing!), and still watching out for me. I know she is here still. I can see her, smell her, hear her. Yet I still grieve. I miss you, TCee.

And there is still one unopened voice mail on my phone.