This is the third time I've tried to write this post.
My varsity soccer coach my junior and senior year in high school told me those weren't the best days of my life, and not to let them be. That there were bigger and better things out there waiting for us to find them, experience them. He was right, for the most part, that high school wasn't the best days of my life.
What he wasn't right about was WAZA. A travel team I'd been playing on for four years. Those girls, since the first day, they were more than teammates, they were practically family. We were family, actually. After our first practice our coach had said, "Welcome to the WAZA family," and he never stopped saying it. It was drilled into us that if our sister was against the boards, you go help her. You give her support.
Those girls were one of the best things that have ever happened to me. One of the best groups of people that I have ever come to know.
Friday afternoon we lost a sister. She'd fought leukemia not once, but twice - and won - only to lose to a lung infection.
It's been four years since we last stepped on or off a soccer field together. Four years, but with this we've come back to the family we were once. And still are.
That is how we'll grieve. We'll grieve with our blood family, and the family we chose.
We'll grieve for our sister.