Jenny Leigh Larsen

It has been nearly 16 years since my sister, Jenny, passed away at the age of 17. Even though I think about her everyday, I don’t grieve much anymore. As life would have it, time helps to heal tender wounds…life continues on. At first it seems wrong that life keeps going when someone very important is missing, gone from this world, forever. I remember feeling almost angry that people could still love and laugh when all I could do was mourn and miss. It felt like I was in a time warp or that I would wake from a bad dream; when I would awake from a sleep, I’d quickly remember reality and feel deep sorrow again. For awhile, sleep was my only escape from the angst, but then time continued to tick and I, too, was able to love and laugh again. The unceasing sadness soon became more intermittent, even sporadic, until I fell into the rhythm of life again.

Since I was only 19 at the time, I still had my whole life ahead of me. Just because she was gone, my life didn’t stop. I had to carry on. A year and a half later I found myself in a foreign country serving a Mormon mission. As I lived in Portugal with spiritual conviction and purpose, I was very aware of and grateful for this experience of death, as I felt like it somehow helped lead me to where I was and what I was doing. It gave me a greater resolve and a deeper spiritual assurance. I felt like Jenny helped take me to paths I hadn’t considered before. Being far away from everyone who ever knew Jenny felt depressing at first, but then it became cleansing. It was an important step in the process of acceptance. I was able to lose myself in something else, something with deeper purpose.

Every once in awhile, when I’m least expecting it, this overwhelming sense of grief will overcome me and I cry floods of tears. (This happened to me tonight.) When this happens, my gratitude momentarily dissipates as I ponder and imagine where Jenny would be now if she hadn’t died. Would she be married? Would my children have cousins? Would we be neighbors? My sister and best friend died sixteen years ago and with her died part of the future I had always dreamed of.

I had been the older sister and was forging our path, yet she had gone beyond, to a place I believe in and strive to understand, yet can’t fully grasp. She became the experienced one, the one to whom I would aspire to be like. This was a new role for me. Now that she’s been gone almost as long as she had lived on this earth, I am comfortable with the idea that she is older and wiser, more experienced, my example. She's now forging the path. Death challenges people and their faith on so many levels, but for me, Jenny’s death only solidified what I already believed, that God lives, loves us, and has a plan for us. I take comfort in that I know I will embrace Jenny again and it will feel like old times.

My firstborn daughter is Jenny’s namesake, my second daughter, Juliana, resembles her, and Lacey has the same spunk and silliness. I am sure Jenny trained them before they came to me.

Tomorrow Jenny would turn 33 years old. I remember her as a 4-year old, a 9-year-old and a 17-year-old. She’ll never seem 33. I don’t always cry on her birthday, but this year it’s tender for me. Happy Birthday, Jenny. I love you and I miss you. Until we meet again. Your Sister, Lisa.