Today would have been my sister’s 60th birthday.
Twelve years ago, Cecilie died from cancer, so she didn’t make it to 60. Not even to 50.
She was, you might say, difficult to know. She had undiagnosed behavioral issues. My brother and other sister think it was probably something on the autism spectrum, but my parents never sought to have an official assessment. I don’t know why.
Cecilie lived in Fremont, California, when she finally was functional enough to live on her own. She liked to travel and went to many places, including visiting me on occasion.
One time, I was waiting to pick her up at the Baltimore airport and decided to buy a copy of Khaled Hosseini’s novel, The Kite Runner. I didn’t read it right away.
In fact, I am only just now reading it. A significant portion of the story takes place within the Afghan community in Fremont. I had no idea.
On what may have been the last time I visited her–about two months before she died–Cecilie suggested we go to the pool at her apartment building. She didn’t swim, but she liked pools. She sat by the pool while I swam a few laps. It was one of those sunny, dry days you get in Fremont, California, with the water cool but the sun warm.
It’s a good memory.