Today my sister would have turned 60.

We would have had a full-on birthday extravaganza weekend. Purple everywhere. Family flying in. Stories told louder each time. Too much food. Too much laughing. Lots of toasts. Grandkids running wild. She would have pretended not to boss everyone around while absolutely bossing everyone around.

Instead, our family was ripped off.

Leslie left us just days after turning 28. And 28 was not enough.

She was my only sister. Fifteen months apart. The younger one. Outgoing. Energetic. Loud. Funny. Bossy — in a way only I get to say. We fought terribly as kids, but loved each other fiercely. And that bond? That’s ours.

Even as a little girl, she had a heart for the underdog. Not just me, others too. I remember she helped me fight my battles even though she was younger, she always had my back. I miss this to this day!

She loved family vacations, and Avalon. We would see all our family in one visit. I have tons of photos to go through not scanned in so I will share what I have.

We loved the beach, we loved to sail, kind of, we never wanted the boat to tip over, dad promised it wouldn’t.

There was literally only one Leslie.

She looked almost identical to my daughter Emma. She also looked like my mom but with pale skin like my dad. She also looked like my step Daughter Eleanor causing my friend Angel to gasp during our wedding.

She loved purple and edgy fashion. She loved Jazzercise.

I went to USC for my freshman year and wanted to move back home. My sister wanted to move out and pulled it off as a Junior in high school, because she was really good with money. Meanwhile I found some US savings bonds and cashed them in so I could order pizza.

When I moved to Charleston and the beach, she moved to the mountains as a Clemson Tiger, and embraced Clemson living on campus all four years.

When our grandfather was widowed, he moved to St. Augustine — and suddenly we had a college-era vacation headquarters.

She was the serious student. Focused. Disciplined. Determined.

I was… less serious.

Because I took the scenic route through college, I graduated later than planned — and somehow we both ended up graduating the same year.

After college, she made her way to Jacksonville Beach.

That fit her. The ocean air. The sun. The energy. She loved being near the water. It gave her space to build her life, her marriage, her motherhood — close enough to family, but independent in her own way.

That was us. Always close. Always parallel. Always circling back to each other.

She dated Charley through most of college and was there when I met and dated Bobby. They helped me through that terrible breakup. Later, when Bobby and I got back together and eloped, they supported us.

Even when she didn’t fully trust or like my choice, she stayed connected — for me.

That was Leslie. Loyal. Protective. Fierce.

Deep down, I knew she had concerns — and she was right to. She was one of the very few people who ever stood up for me. Not many did. She never told me what to do. She didn’t lecture. She didn’t make ultimatums. But she wasn’t okay with how I was spoken to, and she didn’t stay silent about it.

What she did instead was powerful.

She kept the door open.

She made sure that if I ever needed help, she would be there. She never let herself be shut out. She trusted her instincts — and she had great instincts.

We built our adult lives almost in tandem.

I got married first.

She followed soon after.

Her son was born first.

Then mine came a few months later.

She beat me there.

That rhythm of our lives — always just months apart — feels sacred now.

When she had her son, he became her entire world.

He consumed her — in the fiercest, most beautiful way. She was a total helicopter mom. She wouldn’t let us help. She hated working and putting him in daycare, so when she had time with him, that was it. Nothing else existed. He was her purpose. Her joy. Her focus.

Michael was the only one of my children who got to meet Aunt Leslie. And she was his godmother. That connection means everything.

Right before she left for that ski trip, she called me. Pretty certain it was a birthday call. We talked for a good long time.

We talked about ordinary things — which now feel extraordinary.

She was thinking about converting her screen porch into a sunroom. Or maybe turning the garage into a playroom. She was planning. Dreaming. Building a future. She was kind. Engaged. Thoughtful. We had such a good phone call.

She told me she was sad I couldn’t go on the trip because I was pregnant.

There was nothing dramatic about that conversation. No big moment. Just sisters talking about life and plans and what was next.

And that is how I choose to remember her.

Not defined by how she left — but by how she lived.

She left behind her son, who later married and had a son of his own — her only grandson. Her love lives on in them. In all of us.

We just don’t have the thousands of photos and videos that today’s world gives us.

So when you get annoyed at my photos, know this is why.

I take them because I know how fast everything can change.

I take them because 28 years wasn’t enough.

I take them because I never got to celebrate her 60th.

Happy 60th Birthday, Leslie. 💜

There will never be another you.