This year is no different than any year since 2004 when it comes to this – I am up again in the wee hours of V-Day, thinking about you, Jasmine, and how you’d be navigating this world with nearly 24 years under your belt. Grief ninjas come and go, but there’s always the steady ache of knowing that still, this many years later, there is a wound to our family that is just barely starting to scar. As always, I’m wondering what you’d think about the state of things, how you’d react to changes in the family, and really, just what a Jasmine would look and sound like, all growed up.
But this year IS different than any year in many ways – the country has lost its mind, and there are things happening that would have a direct impact on you and your health. I never forget that filter when I listen to mostly healthy people talk about health care like it’s a luxury or a privilege to be bought ONLY if you earn enough or work the right job. And I’m generally so emotionally worn out from it all that as I sit here writing this, I feel a little numb. Not so numb, though, that I’m not up in the middle of the night, thinking about you on this anniversary.
13 years. 13. I’m not even going to talk about luck, but that’s a lot of years without you. You should have had more time with us. There are so many new treatments out now for cystic fibrosis, some of which show promise for healing damaged lungs. And it’s still so bittersweet to see it and know that it’s now 13 years too late to save you. I miss you so, Jasmine. Wherever you are, I hope the breathing is easy and the air plentiful.