Dear Lessie,
Today was the day. Mom and I finally decided it was time to clean out your room.
And honestly, it was the hardest, most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever done. I’ve cried my heart out a million times already, but for some reason, the tears just kept on coming today. Mom had to keep hugging me and telling me that it was going to be okay…that we would be okay.
Sorry, Lessie. I know it sounds kind of dumb. After all, I’ve had over a month to get used to not having my little sister around but…standing in your room…surrounded by your favorite shade of teal…smelling that cucumber melon perfume that you wore way too often…seeing all the things you’d proudly hoarded over the years...it was just too much.
We started with your books, the books that you worked hard to collect and absolutely refused to give away.. The books that you loved to sneak away from a party to read, even though you knew Mom would get mad at you. The books that you got into heated arguments with your friends defending, because you just couldn’t bear anyone talking trash about the stories you loved. The books you loved to quote randomly to me by sneaking up to me, whispering in my ear, and giggling when I tried to swat you away. The books that made your eyes sparkle when you were rereading your favorite scenes for fun. I miss seeing your eyes sparkle like that.
We moved on to your vanity and makeup collection, the makeup that I was surprised to see you wear because I always thought that you were a bit of a tomboy. I remember when you watched your first makeup tutorial, and begged Mom to take you to Sephora so you could replicate what you’d seen. I remember when you came to show me your first attempt at getting glamorous, your foundation a little too light, your blush a little too dark, your eyeliner a little uneven on both sides. You knew that you hadn’t gotten it perfect, but you were proud of daring to try something new. You smiled from ear to ear when I said it looked decent for a first try. God, I miss that smile.
We packed up your clothes next, the clothes that still smelled like you. That funky tie-dye shirt that you’d stolen from my laundry basket and absolutely refused to give back. The white, floral dress that you wore to your first school dance and spilled punch on because you were dancing like a maniac. The Yankees crewneck that you wore on your first date with the boy you crushed on for years, and the same one that you cried in when he was stupid enough to dump you. Those knit sweaters that we spent our last holiday break together making. I remember you snorting because we had no clue what we were doing. “Oh my gosh, Lauren! No one should ever let us knit again!” you’d laughed. Holy, I miss that laugh so much.
We packed up your bed next, the bed that had seen so many feelings over the years. The stuffed animals that Mom bought for you when 5-year-old you kept having nightmares. The pillows you sobbed into when Mom and Dad got divorced. The nightstand where you would place your laptop and stay up far too late watching Barbie movies out of nostalgia. Your favorite blanket that you liked to curl up under whenever you felt gloomy. The covers we hid under so Mom couldn’t hear us giggle and gossip about all sorts of scandalous things. Damn, I miss those conversations.
On and on we went, packing up your shoes, your jewelry, your dresser, your bed, your furniture, everything. Before I knew it, Mom and I were standing in front of an empty room, a room that almost looked like it had never been lived in. But the walls were still your favorite shade of teal. That stupid cucumber scent was still in the air. I swear I could still hear your laugh if I listened closely enough.
I broke down again, real badly this time. Mom’s shirt was soaked with my tears in seconds. I know I’m supposed to move on, Lessie, but it’s just not fair. You were so kind, joyful, and fun. You brought so much light into Mom and I’s lives. You were my best friend. I can’t believe the cancer just took you away like that. So fast, so quick, like it didn’t even matter that you had a life to live or a family that loved you. You’re supposed to be here, Lessie. I miss you so damn much.
When I decided I was finally finished sobbing, Mom stood me up, and we sighed as we took one last look at your room together. I honestly don’t know what we plan to do with it. I know for sure that we’re repainting the walls, but I’m not sure what we’re doing next. We initially thought about making it a guest bedroom, but I thought it was kind of creepy to make guests sleep in the room of someone who had recently died. Mom was thinking a study den or a storage room. I liked the study den idea, and I even suggested that adding a home library, a way to honor your love of books or something.
But honestly, Lessie, whatever we turn it into, it doesn’t really matter. We can paint over the walls all we like. We can crack open the windows or put in air freshener to get rid of that faint cucumber melon scent. We can put in new furniture and paintings and whatever else. But it doesn’t matter. This will always be your room, Alessia. This will always be the place where you laughed and cried and got scared and felt loved.
I’ll always remember.
Your big sis,
Laurie