I learned she hated blueberries now.
She learned I had stopped drinking soda.
At one point, she laughed at something I said and I nearly cried because the sound was familiar.
Then I became angry because it was familiar.
Grief had trained me to survive without that laugh.
Now it was sitting across from me eating soup.
Lily noticed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.”
That mattered.
For years, Lily had decided what I could handle.
Now she asked.
We kept going.
Our parents had their own process.
Mom oscillated between joy and rage.
One week she brought Lily childhood photographs.
The next she refused to answer her call.
Dad became quieter.
Eventually he told Lily:
“I am grateful you’re alive.”
“And I am angry enough that sometimes I don’t know what to do with that gratitude.”
Lily said:
“That’s fair.”
He shook his head.
