Almost a year ago, I gave birth to my second daughter. Two girls, between two and three years apart, just like me and my sister. Watching them grow up together has unearthed some of my oldest memories, moments from my earliest days of childhood, recollections that are hard to differentiate from my imagination. Watching my youngest daughter look up to her big sister stirs in me a longing and has exposed new surfaces of my grief. “This is ok,” I tell myself. “It is ok to feel this. This is part of the process.”