When I tilted my head, trying to figure how and when Marge had made these arrangements, Liz ran a hand over her hair, trying to corral loose strands into her messy ponytail.

“Apparently right after she’d passed the CPA and became an accountant, she bought a bunch of life insurance. Two different policies, in fact. She added to them over the years, and it’s quite a lot of money. The larger policy lists me as the beneficiary, and it’s more than I’ll ever need, even if I did decide to have a child on my own. She recently changed the beneficiary on the other policy, to your parents. So your dad can retire. I asked about you…”

I raised my hand, interrupting. “I’m glad it’s going to you and my parents,” I said. She looked confused, as if none of the information she’d recited really made sense to her.

“What I kept wondering when she told me about all this,” Liz continued, “is how did she know? I asked her, and she said that because of her family history, and even though she wasn’t sure who the beneficiaries would eventually be – early on, I think she listed you and your parents – she wanted to make sure she had it just in case she ever needed it.”

“She never told me.”

“She never told me, either,” Liz admitted. “When we were discussing having a baby before she got sick, I guess I never really focused on the cost. We do okay and we’ve saved a bit, but mostly I guess I always trusted that if Marge thought we could afford it, we could…” For a moment, her expression verged on desperation. “I can barely hold myself together. I told her that I didn’t think I was capable of raising a child without her. She was always the more maternal one. And do you know what she said to that?”

I looked at her, waiting.

“She said that I was her inspiration and that any child that I raised would make the world a better place. And that if there’s a heaven, she promised that she would watch over our child forever.”

The following day, it was my turn to say goodbye.

When I arrived at the house, Marge was sleeping as usual. I stayed for a while, keeping an eye on the clock so as not to be late to pick up London from school, but before long the baby monitor in the kitchen crackled and both my mom and Liz hustled back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, my mom returned to the kitchen.

“Marge wants to see you,” she said.

“How is she?”

“She seems pretty coherent, but you should probably head back now. Sometimes she starts to get confused, and doesn’t stay awake long.”

Observing my mom’s steady demeanor, I could see that she was every bit as strong as my father, for she was bearing the unbearable, each and every day.

I held my mom for a moment, then walked down the hall to the bedroom. As on Valentine’s Day, Marge was wearing a pretty scarf, and I guessed that she had asked Liz to put it on her before I came in.

I pulled a chair from the corner of the room and scooted it toward the bed. Liz backed out of the room as I reached for my sister’s hand. It felt warm but lifeless in mine. Unmoving. I didn’t know whether she could even feel it, but I squeezed it anyway.

“Hi, Sis,” I said to her softly.

At my voice, she blinked, then struggled to clear her throat.

“Read,” she said, the word coming out garbled.

It took a moment for me to understand what she meant, but then I spotted the envelope that Liz had placed on the bed stand, and I reached for it. Opening it, I pulled out the single sheet of paper, took a deep breath and began to read.

Marge,

It’s late at night, and I am struggling to find the words that I wish would come more easily. In truth, I’m not sure it’s even possible to convey in words how much you’ve always meant to me. I could tell you that I love you, and that you’re the greatest sister a guy could ever have; I could admit that I’ve always looked up to you. And yet, because I’ve said those things to you before, it feels painfully inadequate. How can I say goodbye to the best person I’ve ever known, in a way she truly deserves?

And then it occurred to me that all of what I need to say can be summed up in just two words.

Thank you.

Thank you for looking out for me all my life, for trying to protect me from my own mistakes, for being a living example of the courage I so desperately wish I owned. But most of all, thank you for showing me what it means to truly love, and be loved, in return.

You know me: the maestro of grand romantic gestures, of candlelit dinners and flowers on date night. But what I didn’t understand until recently was that those tender, orchestrated moments mean nothing unless they occur with someone who loves you just the way you are.

For too long, I was in a relationship in which love always felt conditional – I was forever trying, and failing, to become someone worthy of true love. But in thinking about you and Liz and the way you are with each other, it eventually dawned on me that acceptance is the heart of true love, not judgment. To be fully accepted by another, even in your weakest moment, is to finally feel at rest.

You and Liz are my heroes and my muses, because your love for each other has always made room for your differences and celebrated everything you had in common. And in these darkest hours, your example has been a light that helped me find my way back to the things that matter most. I only pray that someday I, too, will know the kind of love that you two share.

I love you, my sweet sister —

Russ

My hands shook as I refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. I didn’t trust myself to speak, but Marge’s wise gaze told me I didn’t need to.