Valley fever took years I could name. It also took the version of me who would have lived them. She would have built her own systems, known her own car, learned the basic competences of running a life. I’m meeting her absence now, ten years later, every time I find another thing I quietly handed off and never reclaimed. The grief isn’t for the time. It’s for her. I keep trying to become the person she would have been by now. I have to stop. She isn’t ahead of me, she doesn’t exist.
