Never the wrong sister

I miss Steve. Not the way Sarah does. I can't even begin to feel a millionth of her missing. But I do.

I miss him laughing. I miss him more importantly laughing at her. She always made him laugh.

I can't remember when we met him, but it wasn't too long after we moved to Marion. He always used to ask me, "Will you go out with me?"

"No Steve."

Everyday for awhile then less frequently. But it was always a running question. Later he and Sarah started dating sometime during her Junior year. They fought, they grew up together, they loved each other with abandon. They were always together, always.

At dinners at my parents he would joke with Marc when she had especially annoyed him, that he "married the wrong sister." Marc would say, "Nope. You married the right one." Marc was right. I would have killed Steve, Sarah would have killed Marc and we would both share a cell in Leavenworth.

He loved Sarah, and I know that his love carries beyond the veil that currently separates us from those who get to walk the road before hand. I know she will always miss him. I will miss him, always.

But Steve, you always, always had the right sister.