For me, one of the most difficult parts of grief is dealing with lost dreams. There are no words to describe the pain and hurt of loosing Niff, but sometimes I get so caught up in missing things that didn’t even happen yet.
All the books and support groups call this mourning lost dreams; the result of loosing a loved one, and therefore, losing the hopes you had for/with them in the future. Most of the time, I think I blow things out of proportion, but other times, I feel like we’ve lost so much with Jen’s passing. Some dreams seem superficial, but they are all über important to me (and my family).
Although I’m not even engaged, I wish Jen could be at my wedding. I wanted her to be my maid of honor, and help me get ready. I wanted to take pictures with her in our dresses, and have her give a funny speech. I wanted her to be the aunt to my children, and have them call her “Aunt Niffie.” I always saw her as the fun, crazy aunt who would give them candy when she babysits, and would say things like, “Don’t tell your mom I let you eat ice cream and dino nuggets for dinner.”
I wish I could have taken Niff out for her 21st birthday, and bought her drinks all night long, and take her to the diner at 3:00AM for chicken fingers, drive her home, and nurse her hangover the next morning.
I’ve never been to Disney, and I always wanted to take a family vacation there. You see the commercials on TV all the time, saying things like “Only blah-blah-blah dollars for a family of four,” and I would always think, “That wouldn’t work for us; we’re a family of five.” Now, I never want to go there. If we can’t go with Jen, I’m not going at all.
No more sister dates. That’s hard to say. We would go to Ruby Tuesdays and get dinner, and I would always pay and say, “I’m the big sister.” Or if we went to IHOP, she would always get Viva La French Toast. I’m still convinced she only ordeded it because she liked the name.
No more collecting Sister Tax. Niff never believed me, but Sister Tax was a tax levied upon little sisters to pay their older sisters. Payment methods included getting iced tea when I was on the couch, and turning off my light when I was in bed. One day, I came home, and there was a big box wrapped up, with a card that said, “Here is your sister tax.” It was a pair of tall black uggs. I look at that card every day, and I wear those uggs like they are glass slippers.
I miss our car rides. We would sing to all the songs on the radio, and Jen would yell at me because I never knew the words.
Jen always colored her hair at home, and sometimes would ask me to help. Before we started, I would always make her take an oath:
I, Jennifer, understand that I am asking my sister, Jacqueline, to do my hair, and will not hold her responsible if it comes out bad.
After awhile, I would just say, “Do you want to take the oath, or do you understand?” She would just say, “Jack, come on. Do my hair.” No more oaths.
I know I am missing so much more, but I can’t keep wiping my tears away.