I remember spending many Fourths with Carrie. I have spent almost every single Fourth with her. When we were little, we would go up to the Lake Geneva cottage. There, Carrie, Sean, Colleen, and me, and all the younger cousins, would hang out with the whole family. We'd sleep in the bunks in the basement, play with the Lincoln logs and croquet set, and I'd push her on the tire swing. We might walk to the beach and swim. Carrie was a strong swimmer, and she liked swimming to the raft, although sometimes we'd just swing on the set by the beach. Once I remember my dad getting some fireworks and setting them off in the street - there were a few tanks that spat sparks at each other.

Some Fourths we would spend at home in Evanston. We would walk up to Central street, and stake out a place on the grass maybe a half hour before the parade began. People put lawn furniture in the street for days beforehand. My mom always complains about those people, but doesn't complain too loudly, since the Sullivans do us the favor of staking out a spot with that very technique. We'd watch the parade go by. Some years we'd march in it. I marched with the Boy Scouts; Carrie marched with various groups. I don't remember exactly which ones but I do remember seeing her walk by. I liked to walk down Central street with Carrie. My parents would stay put while we maneuvered through the crowd, perhaps grabbing some ice cream from Hartigans and saying hello to friends. Then in the evening, after perhaps a barbeque at the Sullivan's, we would camp out somewhere on the lakefront to watch the fireworks. When I was in high school, I was far too cool for my family, but come college I spent my time with them when I could.

The last night Carrie spent with her siblings was the Fourth of July, two years ago. I remember that day very well. Carrie had just come off of a week of intense living in preparation for dying. She had stopped chemo and was feeling great. I remember her saying to me how much it sucked, that as her lungs were collapsing from underneath her, her legs and arms felt strong and she could walk without too much help. She felt like she was recovering, so in some ways the Fourth was her at her final peak. The next day we planned to go to Wisconsin. I think nobody in my family really believed that she would die. "Days to weeks", they said - but that always meant days to weeks from now, not the 10 or so days she actually had from the day they stopped chemo. The morning of the 5th she was too tired to go, but my dad, Scott and Nora went ahead, only to turn around and head back when Carrie didn't improve.

The Fourth of July last year was an incredible day. I remember laughing and talking with Carrie as we took turns pushing her wheelchair up the uneven sidewalk to Central Street. The Sullivan's had staked out a spot on the grass, and she maneuvered into position to watch the parade. I don't think she made it through the whole thing - I mean, she was dying and all - but she made a good show and had a smile on her face the whole time. I don't remember what we did for dinner but then in the evening, we went and saw the fireworks. It was a time I'll never forget. I invited two of my closest friends, Aaron and Nicole, up to Evanston spend the evening with my family. We found a spot on the lakefront just south of the Northwestern campus. Carrie was decked out in red, white and blue, just like we have always done. Two years later I cannot remember everything, but I know that she spent lots of time with Nora that night, and really enjoyed herself, even as she knew that it might be her last night. In the photos she has her American flag bandana, headphones, and a sometimes pained look, sometimes happy look on her face.

Last year I watched the parade in Evanston with my family. We watched a float of Miatas go by, which reminded me of Carrie. This year I hear the parade was rained out. I spent the holiday with Nicole in Seattle, at a friend's apartment. I watched the dueling fireworks here, one set by the Space Needle and the other over Lake Union. It was a whole different experience, but I think it's a new one that I will repeat in the years ahead. I miss the blanket laid out on the grass, with the folks selling the glo-sticks that you wrap around your neck. I miss the people everywhere, and the loud bangs that accompany the spectacular displays right over your head. I missed my sister and brother this year, and the snide remarks from my parents. But most of all I missed Carrie.