October is, well, a long month, me memory-wise.

Today is the 7th anniversary of my older sister’s death. Bonnie died in her apartment in the Marco Polo condominium in Honolulu after battling cancer for most of the year. I got a call from a hospice nurse while Meda and I were walking on the beach that morning, then spent several hours alone with Bonnie in her apartment waiting for the mortuary crew to finally arrive.

In another ten days, it’s the anniversary of my dad’s passing.

So this is always a time for sorting through family memories, unresolved issues and missed opportunities.

This morning I read this tribute to Bonnie. It was first posted on Facebook the day Bonnie died by the daughter of one of my Lind cousin’s who had died at a relatively young age. Her daughter describes how Bonnie and her husband, Ray, stepped into that crisis and made a world of difference. It’s an image of Bonnie and Ray that I’ll treasure.

On the dark night I became the oldest of my family, I called my mom’s cousin because we had just visited them the week before. We landed at a friend’s house and tried hard to sleep on the saddest night of our lives. Mom’s cousin and her husband drove through the night, knocking on the door of strangers to reassure us that they were there. Through the months that followed Bonnie sent me letters and guided me to adulthood. She encouraged me to go to college and probably was the reason that I had any direction at all during that time. She made blankets for my children and helped to lead me through early motherhood and beyond, she offered advice throughout the years and encouraged my children to call her Auntie Tutu, knowing they needed a Grandmother, but never treading on the memory of my mother. Today she succumbed to cancer. I sit here crying and realizing that due to my fear of loss and pain I never let her in, but she never let me forget that I was not alone. Let people love you, let people know how important they are to you, let them know before it is too late to say anything.