One year.

Today marks one year. Fifty-two weeks, 365 days, 525,600 minutes. Never in my life have I missed a person more. Never before have I regretted time lost.

I can’t believe it’s been a year. And what a year at that. When my world came crashing down around me in April, I only wanted her. When I thought I was lost, I only wanted one person. When I couldn’t talk to anyone else, I wished I could’ve talked to her. How selfish am I to only think of myself.

Saying I miss her is a gross understatement. Some days, I think she is the only person who truly understood me, who truly loved me for me and who truly accepted me as is. She loved me unconditionally, and she didn’t have to. She was an aunt by marriage, but had you experienced us together, you would’ve never known it. She called me a daughter, but I called her a sister.

My best memory is the night we stayed up drinking the most excellent cosmopolitans, simply talking. We discussed my plans to move to France later in the year. She was going to use her sky miles to help me move. We had it planned down to the date, organized around the expiration date of her miles. We thumbed through every book about France she owned and talked about her visits there. She told me things locals expected and things tourists expected. She promised what I always knew in my heart — moving to France would be the best decision I would ever make.

But France never happened, mostly because life did instead. I got a job in my career field after graduation. I got insurance, a big milestone. I met a boy and fell in love. She hid her cancer. Again, life happened.

Then, I got a phone call. She was nearing the end. I didn’t believe it, and after 10 years, why should I? But my uncle sounded different this time. So I went. I stood over her and talked about France. I promised I would go. I promised I would go and explore and I would do all the things we talked about doing through the years. I vowed to think of her under the Arc de Triomphe. I promised to eat like I didn’t care about my waist line and drink like I wasn’t a preacher’s kid. I promised to love her till the end of time. And although I could see anger in her eyes when I cried, I told her she’d have to get over it. She didn’t like a fuss, but she needed to know I was sad. She needed to know what she meant to me.

Because, for more than two years, I had lived an hour and a half away, and you wouldn’t have known it. I didn’t visit enough. I didn’t call enough. I didn’t check on her enough. And it’s one of my biggest regrets. I failed her. I had such an amazing opportunity and I missed it. So now I know. I know the hard way. If you love someone, tell them. Show them. Do it everyday. Because sometimes, even the invincible, leave us. And we are left with a void no one can fill. That was Janis for me. She has left a hole never to be filled.

She was a light, an honest and bright light. If you had a bad haircut, she’d tell you and then send you to her hairdresser. If an outfit was unflattering, she’d let you know, but then offer something of hers to complement it. She was always brutally honest, but made sure to always accentuate your positives. She was a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister and a friend. She was my aunt, and she was one of the best friends I will ever have.

Today marks a year without her. A long year, marked even longer without her to lean on. So to Janis — may she truly know how much she meant to me and how much I loved her. To you, may you tell those in your life so they don’t ever have to wonder.