My sister. She was many things. She was sweet and kind. She was funny and she was love. She loved the color yellow and animals. She loved her kids and grand-kids, her friends and family. She loved in a way only few people can: unconditionally.
I saw her one time after we had had a little spat. I said to her "I thought you were mad at me". She said "You're my sister. I could never be mad at you". That is how she loved.
When I turned five she gave me a birthday card. It was cute, had a little mouse on it eating chocolate chip cookies. I don't know whatever happened to that card, but I do know that she never forgot one of my birthdays. Not one. That is how she loved.
As most people know, we came from a sort of divided family. A his, her, theirs situation. She came from his, I from theirs. This technically made us half sisters. But Cynthia didn't believe in technicalities. With a wave of her hand and in a way only she could, she would say, "oh, whatever". We were sisters and never once did she make me feel that divide. That is how she loved.
Now as I'm learning to live in a world without her I remember her smile, her laugh, but mostly, I remember her love.