“You made me an aunt,” she used to remind me all the time.

I was her pride and joy. Everything I did made her proud. She told me she loved me every day. When I found out she was sick, I didn’t show it but I was devastated inside. I put stripes of purple in my hair and put my warrior face on. I had my faith and everything was going to be alright. I just knew it. I started seeing purple in everything then. Flowers, sunsets, a random piece of clothing on a rack. Hope. Purple was her favorite color. All purple everything. And suddenly it became mine too. I clung to it like the faith I had that God was going to heal her and make everything okay. I still cling to it (purple, not the faith in God- but that’s a story for another day).

I sang Amazing Grace alongside the reverend at her funeral. I didn’t know and to this day I still don’t know all the words to that song. But in that moment, singing for her, I did. They came to me like she was whispering them in my ear. She was my biggest fan. She always encouraged me to sing and appreciated my love for music. One year around Christmas, she had a Dixie Chicks cd playing in her car and I mentioned liking it. Country music wasn’t allowed in my house growing up, and she knew that, but it didn’t stop her from giving it to me that night. My first country cd. I was probably 11? 12? I still have it. Listening (and belting out every word to “There’s Your Trouble”) used to bring me back to that night. Now when I listen I usually end up with tears streaming down my face. Wishing I could hear her voice just one more time.

It’s been almost six years now. I think of her often. I wonder if I’m still making her proud.