Jessica grew into a fiery, curly-haired force overflowing with a lovely combination of sass and grace. She took to the arts and taught herself to draw, paint, and make comic books. I cherished her drawings and cards, and to this day, I still have one of her elementary school projects tacked up on our fridge.

I missed a lot of my sister’s formative years.

Knowing what I know now, would I have done it differently? Not just yes, a resounding, Hell, yes!

In my first marriage, I had a season of intense emotional pull that quickly faded into a routine of comfort. I had a few years of technically being together while also maintaining a vast distance filled with discontent.

I didn’t trust myself or my partner. This was a red flag that I deliberately ignored.

The last thing I was looking for while living in cramped corporate housing with rented furniture was another pet. I got home one evening, and my husband said, “I found a cat. I think it’s living in the bushes.”

A few days later, I walked downstairs and spotted a tortoiseshell fur ball sunning on the sidewalk. As soon as the stairwell door closed, it popped up and ran toward me.

The day I met the love of my life, I was not at my best. I was in the midst of trauma — hazily walking around, teary-eyed, bumping into reality now and again.

My then-husband of nine years had moved out while I was on a work trip. I was reeling from the email he sent a few days later, stating his desire for a divorce.