I do not remember Mackenzie in big moments or events. Rather, she comes back to me as a constellation of small glimpses, stomach-aching feelings, and distinct smells:
Her favorite way to eat corn: frozen, and right out of the bag.
Her crooked, ever-present smile with the chipped front tooth, the result of jumping too high on our parents' bed.
My excitement, almost visceral, when the elevator doors opened to her floor at Hopkins. I would run to her room just so I could beat my other sisters to the spot in bed next to her.
Her red-orange 3-piece outfit that she almost never took off the year she was 5.
Her perfect, round head.
My sister was a lot of things to a lot of people, but this is what she was to me. She is a lot of other things too, but like I said, they come back to me in small glimpses. Today, at this moment, this is how I see her.
