Dear Heather,

I remember when we went to preschool together and had our pictures taken. The photographer told us to smile as big as we could. Mom got mad at me for having such a huge smile. You looked so tiny in your picture, with your curly red hair and big smile, too. I remember that summer at Granny's house, right after Grandpa died. We played Bloody Mary in the attic and got so freaked out because we couldn't wash the diamond off the mirror. I remember Holly played the same game in the attic bathroom all by herself, while we sat outside listening in fear, and then making us scream our heads off when she came running out, covered in red food coloring. I remember taking a drag off your cigarette when you came and lived with us for a little while. I didn't know how to smoke, so I kept inhaling and you yelled at me to stop after seeing my face turn green and then laughed as I doubled over and coughed up a lung. I have never smoked since. I remember watching you get married to Gerry at Aunt Fran's house. You were absolutely stunning. I remember watching your babies for you, and couldn't believe you had two girls! Our family loves girls, don't you think? I remember hearing about your diagnosis on my birthday. I remember sitting outside with you, just being quiet, enjoying nature. You loved nature. I remember coming to visit you at Huntsman. I think you had the best room in the building. You could see almost the entire Salt Lake Valley from your picture window. I remember sitting outside on the deck, confessing to your mother about things we did together that nobody knew, and having a good laugh afterward. I remember coming to be with you every day. I remember sitting in the bedroom, holding your hand and feeling the presence of Granny, Grandpa, and Uncle John. I remember the desperate pleas Fran and I made with the hospice to make sure that you were as comfortable and pain-free as possible. I remember hearing you say, "I love you. You're my best friend."

I love you. I miss you. Happy Birthday.

Love, Me