Amy

Amy was a person like no one else. She had a special look, a special laugh, she was a special person. She was born August 24, 1977 in Spokane. In 1980, I became her younger sister. She had medium length hair that had a clean silky shine to it, and big dark brown eyes to follow. She had pink skin and rosy cheeks— She always had a smile. Amy never acted sad, unless someone else seemed sad. She only cared about others and seldom of herself. She seemed the happiest, kindest, sweetest, softest, fairest, most caring person I have ever known. I hope I will see her again. Her face had such expression, you could always tell how she felt, whether it be happy, sad, seldom mad—you could tell.

The clothes Amy wore were the best. They were whatever she felt like wearing, nothing more, as long as it seemed comfortable. It always looked good on her, even if it was not in style. Amy made everything that was mean, negative, and unimportant light up unbelievably, like nothing I have ever seen. And her smile…I loved her smile.

Amy had a secret about herself, something no one else had, she knew things no one else knew. She was here to show everyone what love was…but no one else was ready. Her purpose on earth failed, no one was ready, and her time came, and she had to leave. Amy and I were a lot alike. We could sense things about each other. We have the same nose, and the same rosy cheeks, but I was not lucky enough to have her eyes and her smile. But she always took me to the mirror and we would smile and she would say, “We look alike…a lot alike!” Then she would turn to me and say with a big smile, “You’re so pretty Katie!” You could tell we were sisters.

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