It’s National Siblings Day, and signs of you are everywhere.

The dangly earrings I wore to the office — the ones you called pom-poms.

The Taylor Swift song that came on the radio on my drive home from work.

The newborn flowers (pink, your favorite) bursting with color and vibrance and life in my front yard.

The Tillamook ice cream in my freezer, made with love by the Tillamook cows you visited on one of your many trips to Oregon.

The running shoes with the bald tires and frayed laces and muted shades, the ones I haven’t worn for five years but refuse to throw away because I wore them that day I first raced in the dark for you.

The purple shirt on my back and the purple band on my wrist.

The fuzzy dog at my feet that somehow always understood not to paw at your face, even when she was a puppy and you could still see a little.

The dried flowers in my dining room, still just as bright as they were in the church that October day.

Your classmates from Fletcher who are college juniors this year. The impossibly grown-up, solemn faces in the pews.

The guest room you never used.

The way my son smiles at me, his deep blue eyes equal parts sweetness and spunk.

The lump I feel in my throat when I remember he’ll never know you.