10 years. It's been ten years that my sister has been alive. It's crazy how time flies. I remember her coming home for the first time, on New Year's Eve. The Christmas lights illuminated our sparse front room with bright colors. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope thrown against brown walls. We decided to keep the lights up for her big welcoming home.

Tiny. Tiny that's what she was, she had arrived two months early. I was to young at the time to understand what was going on, all I knew was that a baby was on the way. I didn't understand why my mom always threw up or why she was always tired or why we had to take so many late night trips to the hospital.  I was too naive at the time to understand such a complex issue like this. I remember the day she came into this Earth. I don't remember how I got there but I was there, at the hospital. It was December 17th, 2004, it had to have been noon because the room I sat in with my grandpa and my brother was so bright. The light hit every inch of the room and gave off a ray of sunshine. There was no dark corner in that room, it was sign that everything would be okay, or at least that's how I saw it. I recall having a white trash bag filled to the top with random toys. The night before my sister was born my dad told me to pack a bag with toys and things that would keep me entertained.

When I look back at it my mom's labor, it really was just a big waiting game, a long agonizing waiting game. I played with my toys not fully comprehending what was taking so long.  All I managed to understand was that my baby sister was on her way and that's why I was there. I think my grandpa was sad that he couldn't be there to see his daughter give birth.  Not that that's really something a father would want to see but it was because that was possibly the last time he would ever see his daughter. I asked him what was taking so long. He smiled at me but his smile didn't reach his tear rimmed eyes. Now that I think about it, it must have been very hard for him; hard for him to know the full effect of what could happen. What could happen, key word could. But what did happen was that my mother didn't die in that operation room and neither did my younger sister.

Ten years she's been healthy and breathing. She's lived ten years. I honestly could never imagine my life without my little sister. She's that missing puzzle piece to complete the perfect puzzle. I was puzzled on December 17th  but now I fully understand, it only  took ten years, but I now understand the fragile way of life. Life isn't a bunch of numbers, it's not a countdown; life is when you look into your ten year old, surviving sisters eyes and you know you've never seen a pair like them and you never will. You know you'd never be able to imagine a life without those pair of eyes, without her. That's life.