Dear Dee,

It's been six years since we last saw your face.

We're thirtysomethings now. Each of us older than you lived to be. We're happy. We're married and single. We've gone natural, we eat healthier, we excercise. Some of us have moved away. Some of us have moved back home. We have new jobs or more responsibility. We travel. We've settled down. We take calculated risks. We still look like those girls who hung out on the yard but, save for having more time with you, we wouldn't trade places with them. We're still playful, just wiser.

Our years are passing faster than we'd like. Our hair is turning gray. The babies you knew are now big kids, and there are additions that you never got to meet.

We can still party with the best of them. We laugh, we dance, we sing. When Sorors start to stroll, we jump in the line. Staying out all night is still fun, but it now happens once or twice a year instead of once or twice a week. We don't recover like we used to, and we're okay with that.

It feels different this year, Dee. Maybe it's because it falls on a Tuesday for the first time since That Tuesday that changed our lives; or maybe it's because the bond you had with each of us ensures that your presence will never fade.

We miss you.

All our love.