I can't tell you how much they fought over letting their aunt stay in their room. If she was granted a stay there, she would leave her scent. Her very distinctive scent.
And so now, when she has departed again, I go into the room she stayed to breathe her in.
And it's her in all the glory I remember her. And the kids try to breathe that scent in.
But I close the room off, with me securely inside, so I can breathe the scent that is my sister. And I can breathe deeply in the folds of the only-just-stripped-bed.
And I can feel her, here, and wallow in self-pity because now she's making her way back home to her own home.
And I will wait here for her return.
Tear-stained pillows await her.
I miss her.