I am the middle of 3 girls. My big sister was older by 5 years, and by the time I was 8 she was the main baby sitter for me and for "her bratty little sister." (Little sister's description of her young self.)

Her husband of 66-years died late last year, and since then the three of us became very close. We live too far apart to visit often, and well, there was a lot going on during this last year. When I found out she was in the hospital in July, I went to see her. I was shocked at how skinny she was. She admitted she had been losing weight since last September.

I'm sure she knew what she had, but she didn't tell us until the tests were conclusive. Still, all of us thought she had more time. She refused radiation and chemo, and said she was at peace with what was happening. I wanted her to fight, fight, fight . . . but she made her own choice. She went into hospice. I visited her one last time in late November. I intended to stay an hour, but she felt better and we talked intensely for two.

She died quietly two weeks later.

One day she said that some people in her place would get busy and clean out their closets and organize their papers, but nope, she wasn't going to do that. I have to smile when I remember this. I miss her.

Goodbye Big Sister.