Personal Reflection
Phil Caruso
I can still see my sister walking up the steps into Emerson House as the Christmas rain falls lightly around us. Our family had spent a wonderful Christmas Day together, giving gifts and seeing family. We shared dinner as a family for the first time in months, full of the banter and the laughter that I remember from our younger days. That evening I drove Amy back to her recovery program in Falmouth, and for a little more than an hour, she and I had the best and most earnest conversation we'd had in years.
Amy and I talked about a lot of things on the way down to the Cape that night. We talked about my family - she asked how my mother and my father and my sister were doing as they stayed strong to support her through her recovery. She told me how much that meant to her, how lucky she felt to have her family at her side through all of it. She talked about the other women in her program, how inspired she was by them and how important it was for her to have a strong community to draw support from.
Most of all, we talked about her plans - anyone who met Amy could see that she had all sorts of plans, big and small. We talked about her 21st birthday, three short weeks away - she was hoping to finish at Emerson house and host some big to-do. We talked about her finishing up at BC, where she'd worked so hard to get over the past two years. She told me how she was thinking about getting involved with recovery herself and helping those suffering in the same way she was.
My little sister certainly had plans, from fighting her addiction to building up her life to helping others, friends and strangers alike. Our whole childhood, I always said that I couldn't wait until she grew up and we got to know each other a little better. Watching Amy begin to grow into adulthood, putting her incomparable charm and compassion to use in the world, was a joy that we had only begun to know.
That night at Emerson House, Amy gave me a big hug and said "I love you", something that she and I both forgot to do too many times - it struck me then as a special ending to a wonderful Christmas. I watched her walk up the stairs and into the house. And less than 24 hours later she was gone.
Oh, Amy, my little sister. You were always the clever one. You were a beautiful girl with a big heart and ambition to match it. And I was so very much looking forward to getting to know you just a little better.