This is your day.

You had 38 trips around the sun. Some of them were golden; some were tarnished. For your fortieth birthday, my wish for you is that you are surrounded by everything golden and that you live in the sun. My constant wish for you is that you always remain in a place of perfect peace, grace, love and harmony. You deserve what you never had here, Lorin Wrenna. I believe somewhere up there, among the stars, planets and galaxies, you’ve finally found what you were searching for. I loved then, I love you now, I love you always.

Today is difficult. You left us at 3:38 AM, one year ago today. You may have lived your life like the wild child you truly were, but you took your leave like the graceful lady you had it in you to be. You had the most beautiful smile on your face when you let go. That’s how I know you finally found the peace you were looking for. That’s how I know you finally found your home. Despite it all, I loved you then. I love you now. I love you always.

One year. One year of wishing. One year of hoping. One year of regretting. One year of praying. One year of sifting through memories and photos. One year of missing you. A lifetime remains.

I miss you tonight. 

I never realized what a huge void your absence would leave. I think I just thought you’d always be there. There to call me, ask your question, then hang up after getting the answer you needed. There to send me a message, even if an angry one, letting me know you’re still there. There to still have a chance to have a conversation with….a real, sister-to-sister conversation, like we used to over Rice Krispie treats and fudge popsicles that summer you were pregnant with Anthony. We had that in the end, those talks and those amends, but this void you left behind seems to get bigger. Because I keep seeing your big eyes and hearing your voice in my dreams. I just need one more conversation with you. Just a bit more time to be sisters with you. We were, once, and we were in the end. I loved you for every single day of the 38 years you blessed us and I will love you for every single day I have left. I need you to know this.

I am sorry.

Please forgive me.

Thank you.

I love you.

This is your day. I wish you were here….but since you can’t be, I hope you’re somewhere up there, dancing amongst the stars, celebrating your 39th birthday. My birthday wish for you is that you are in a place of perfect peace, love and grace.

I miss you. I love you. Always.

It has taken me a bit to sort out how to express what the loss of you truly feels like. It’s a bit like the loss of a limb. You know it’s gone, but it still feels like it’s there. It aches and sometimes, you forget it’s not there anymore; then, when you look down, the realization that it’s gone sets in and that’s when the real pain sets in. The loss of you, for me, is truly painful because of the nature of our relationship and how issues outside of our control shaped it. I missed out on so much time with you over petty issues and feelings when we could have been spending that time being sisters and causing our own particular brand of madness and mayhem (Remember Walmart Distribution and 5 large pizzas 🤣!) I just didn’t know the clock was winding down. Had I known, I would take it all back, Lorin Wrenna. I swear I would. I just thought there would be more. More time. More patience. More treatment options for you. While we didn’t get the “more”, I am truly grateful for the talks and video chats we had in the months before you left us. I am doubly grateful for the relationship you developed with Peyton through video chat, telephone conversations and social media. I want you to know she still has the bear you sent her when she was a toddler and she uses it when she wants to hear your voice telling her you love her. We also show her videos of you as well. She will grow up seeing and hearing you. While it isn’t “more”, it’s enough.

You left us on October 26, 2024 at 3:38 AM. You had your own demons, but you also had such grace, compassion and love. You were absolutely beautiful, inside and out….even in your fractured and twisted places. You were fierce, intelligent and….just everything. During one of the last conversations I had with you, you told me you weren’t ready to leave yet. So, you fought the good fight. And even though I knew it was coming, I never really thought you would actually go. I never thought I would be writing an obituary for the little girl I used to make mud pies with….the teenager I used scream at for not asking to borrow my stuff….the woman who shares the same middle name as my daughter….the woman I fought with and told I never wanted to see again….the woman that telling people, “I love you,” didn’t come easily for, but who told me she loved me for the first time in 8 years on October 10, 2024 and said it every single time we spoke after until October 21, 2024 when you went into a coma. I loved you for every day of the 38 years you had here. I will love you for every day of the remaining days I have on this earth. You are my missing limb.

Lorin, when I was little, I was always scared of you, but I never really realized how brave and courageous and smart and funny you were. I’m really glad I got to know you through our video chats these past two months. I will miss seeing your funny Facebook posts. 

Love, Peyton. 👸🏾🛹