It's been 13 days since my sister passed away, and I can't stop crying.

Sometimes, it sneaks up on me when I'm in the shower. Or when I'm in the car alone, driving around town. It happened this afternoon as I listened to my sister Denise talk about sending some of Ann's clothing up for my mom. The Christmas present that I gave Ann. She never had a chance to wear it.

It's as if I've lost a piece of myself. Ann was always there, and I thought we would grow old together. OK, maybe not into our eighties, but I thought about this often and believed she would live to be at least sixty. That we would be together until after our parents passed away.

Forty seven is ridiculous.

I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw her. We spent the day in Burlingame, going into the shops and buying Christmas decorations and large bars of French soap. We had such a good time, and I asked her to come back as soon as she could.

And now, she's gone. Forever. And it's only day 13.

I will never, ever, ever accept this.