Page 129 of Wanted

While probably soothing, and I’m sure it’s delicious, I don’t taste the soup as it goes down. It’s as if everything inside of me has lost its color and flavor. I know now that it’ll never return.

Nothing will ever be the same.

Not without Ashley. She brought color to everything she touched.

“There you go,” Ms. Elsie says as she dabs at the tears that continue to slide down my face.

I start to tell her that I can’t take another bite of soup, but she puts the spoon down and takes my hand.

“You know the worst part about grief?”

This draws my attention. I turn to look her in the eye. For the first time I stare hard into her hazel eyes and see the years, if not, centuries’ worth of wisdom within them. Though there’s a smile on her face, it’s filled with empathy.

“The regret,” she answers her own question. “When we lose someone, it feels natural to spin our wheels thinking about all of the what-ifs. What if I had said this instead of that? What if I had answered the phone when they called that one time? What if instead of chastising them I would’ve hugged her and told her I loved her? Why was I so mean to her?”

Her smile grows but fills with sadness.

Looking at Ms. Elsie this way I now see a woman who’s lived through lifetimes. I can only imagine the countless people, loved ones, she’s lost and had to grieve.

“Then our grief reminds us we’ll never get that chance again. We can’t go back in time and give them one more hug, tell themhow much we love them. Thank them for the love they gave us while they were here, and how we’re sorry for not returning that love.”

She squeezes my hand.

“Right?”

I nod at the same time a sob escapes me.

“A-ashley had the biggest heart of anyone I knew,” I admit. “She cared about people and animals. She always insisted that our parents donate to homeless shelters and spend our holidays volunteering there. One time she gave her coat to another little girl who was there with her parents, just because the girl complimented it.”

I shake my head.

“Our parents were furious with her, but she just reminded them that we could afford to buy another and that little girl couldn’t. She was brave and strong in a way that I admired.”

I’ve never said those words out loud. It’s true, though. I admired my little sister. She never saw a need to hide her eccentricities.

“I should’ve protected her more. It was my responsibility as her big sister to look out for her.”

“And who was looking out for you?”

I frown and peer over at Ms. Elsie. She meets my stare.

“You both were children when you lost your birth parents.”

“I was ten. Ashley was only four.”

“Children,” she says with a nod. “Grief is like a cloud. The same way clouds block us from seeing the sun and the blue skies overhead, grief can stop us from recognizing the ways we loved them while they were alive.

“I bet there was a reason your sister called you almost daily. She knew she could trust you with her secrets, her ramblings and her thoughts.”

I turn away from Ms. Elsie but my mind beckons back to holding Ashley for hours the night of our parents’ death. I was the one who explained to her that death means they weren’t ever coming back.

The times on Ashley’s birthday night, after the people who adopted us would go to bed, she and I would have our own sleepover in my bedroom and I’d give her the vanilla-flavored rainbow cake with sprinkles I secretly bought for her because it was her favorite.

You’re the best sister ever.

She would say every year.

“Grief likes to hide those moments from us. It can fool us into believing we were the worst of the worst, and the reality is, we did the best we could at the time.

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