Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure a year?
Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred sixty-five days. That’s how long it’s been since my sister took her last breath. When I placed my cell phone next to me that night, I knew it was going to ring before my alarm sounded the following morning.
Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere.
It was 3:34 AM. I knew without looking who was calling and the tears started to fall before I said hello. I fervently wished I had changed my ring tone to something other than “Don’t Stop Believing” because I knew in that moment I had to stop believing that somehow a miracle would come through and my sister would live.
