Sisters.
My fondest memories of us are when there are no others around. These moments are few and far between, but they exist, and I dictate their details to the inside of my eyelids, reminding myself on the daily how dearly blessed I am to have you.
I don't know what it's like for normal people to have normal siblings. I don't think I would want to.
When you were ten years old, Mom got knocked up. . Not the best timing in your pre-teen eyes. She and the soon-to-be step-dad were thrilled beyond belief, but you were just on the brink of realizing your over-achieving, goal-setting personality. A star 100 meter sprinter, already fluent in French, a trip to Australia to look forward to in just 18 months. Life was perfect. Everything you ever wanted was at your finger tips.
I'm grateful that the arrival of a baby sister didn't crush this spirit in you. I guess it could be said that an infant in your life only encouraged the fire of opportunity and success in you. Because to this day, you are still exclaiming how wonderful it was to hold the infant in your arms, to teach her to walk, encourage her first words. You took up the torch of responsibility and practically raised her yourself. When Mom was working nights and the step-dad had a gig in Sidney, you sacrificed your Friday night to put the toddler to bed, entertaining yourself with Days of our Lives and SmartFood while all the others were out seeing the latest Power Rangers movie. When you graduated high school, you gave the fourth seat the child instead of your best friend from Australia. When you had 18 hours of French literature to study, you let the child into your room to give you back massages in exchange for licorice sticks. When the step-dad decided to pull the plug on the family, your first angry outburst was in concern of what would happen to the child. When Mom forgot to buy groceries, you made even the most gnarly looking vegetables taste gourmet. When the only thing the child wanted to do was dance to your Destiny's Child tapes, you slowed her in and danced along next to her. When you finally had saved up enough for a decent car, you took the child on the first road trip, blaring Don Henley's "All She Wants To Do Is Dance" on repeat the whole three hour drive to Nanaimo. When the man of your dreams swept you off your feet and gave you a new condo to live in, you made sure the child got your old bedroom - and every piece of clothing that wouldn't fit into your new closet. But you also advised her not to wear any of it until she was at least 20.
Years passed, and with you being moved out, it wasn't easy to watch the child grow up more and more between every visit. When your man found the perfect home for you and him to live in, it was even farther away from home than before. More distance between you and the child. You focused on your Master's Degree, wowing our whole family and beating even your own records of previous success. You and your man took trips to Las Vegas every six months; spent a month in Australia; toured France and Spain in six weeks.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy to shake realizing into your heart. Your man's 19-year-old brother died on New Years Day. The revelation of fate settled on your heart, and within three months you were engaged, preparing to take a year of absence from teaching French to live out the last of your youthful dreams before trying for babies of your own.
And before your eyes, the child was donning the cap and gown herself, accepting her high school diploma and singing along with the rest of the 2010 graduation class to "Don't Stop Believing" - the original, of course. You and Mom took her out for a picnic on the UVic grounds, surprising the child with a glass of champagne. You drank the rest of her glass when she sheepishly admitted it tasted terrible. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the child still averted alcohol, even at eighteen.
After three months of keeping the child waiting, you arrived at home one day with a big question. The child stood stunned for thirty seconds, and then collapsed into tears . Of course she would be your maid of Honour at your wedding. Of course.
I can't write this without sobbing my little heart out.
I can't write this without admitting that I'm sobbing my little heart out.
I can't write this without still asking - how did I ever come to deserve a sister like you?
And all at once a pleasant truth I learn’d,
For while the tender service made thee weep,
I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide
-- Tennyson
I don't know what it's like for normal people to have normal siblings. I don't think I would want to.
When you were ten years old, Mom got knocked up. . Not the best timing in your pre-teen eyes. She and the soon-to-be step-dad were thrilled beyond belief, but you were just on the brink of realizing your over-achieving, goal-setting personality. A star 100 meter sprinter, already fluent in French, a trip to Australia to look forward to in just 18 months. Life was perfect. Everything you ever wanted was at your finger tips.
I'm grateful that the arrival of a baby sister didn't crush this spirit in you. I guess it could be said that an infant in your life only encouraged the fire of opportunity and success in you. Because to this day, you are still exclaiming how wonderful it was to hold the infant in your arms, to teach her to walk, encourage her first words. You took up the torch of responsibility and practically raised her yourself. When Mom was working nights and the step-dad had a gig in Sidney, you sacrificed your Friday night to put the toddler to bed, entertaining yourself with Days of our Lives and SmartFood while all the others were out seeing the latest Power Rangers movie. When you graduated high school, you gave the fourth seat the child instead of your best friend from Australia. When you had 18 hours of French literature to study, you let the child into your room to give you back massages in exchange for licorice sticks. When the step-dad decided to pull the plug on the family, your first angry outburst was in concern of what would happen to the child. When Mom forgot to buy groceries, you made even the most gnarly looking vegetables taste gourmet. When the only thing the child wanted to do was dance to your Destiny's Child tapes, you slowed her in and danced along next to her. When you finally had saved up enough for a decent car, you took the child on the first road trip, blaring Don Henley's "All She Wants To Do Is Dance" on repeat the whole three hour drive to Nanaimo. When the man of your dreams swept you off your feet and gave you a new condo to live in, you made sure the child got your old bedroom - and every piece of clothing that wouldn't fit into your new closet. But you also advised her not to wear any of it until she was at least 20.
Years passed, and with you being moved out, it wasn't easy to watch the child grow up more and more between every visit. When your man found the perfect home for you and him to live in, it was even farther away from home than before. More distance between you and the child. You focused on your Master's Degree, wowing our whole family and beating even your own records of previous success. You and your man took trips to Las Vegas every six months; spent a month in Australia; toured France and Spain in six weeks.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy to shake realizing into your heart. Your man's 19-year-old brother died on New Years Day. The revelation of fate settled on your heart, and within three months you were engaged, preparing to take a year of absence from teaching French to live out the last of your youthful dreams before trying for babies of your own.
And before your eyes, the child was donning the cap and gown herself, accepting her high school diploma and singing along with the rest of the 2010 graduation class to "Don't Stop Believing" - the original, of course. You and Mom took her out for a picnic on the UVic grounds, surprising the child with a glass of champagne. You drank the rest of her glass when she sheepishly admitted it tasted terrible. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the child still averted alcohol, even at eighteen.
After three months of keeping the child waiting, you arrived at home one day with a big question. The child stood stunned for thirty seconds, and then collapsed into tears . Of course she would be your maid of Honour at your wedding. Of course.
I can't write this without sobbing my little heart out.
I can't write this without admitting that I'm sobbing my little heart out.
I can't write this without still asking - how did I ever come to deserve a sister like you?
And all at once a pleasant truth I learn’d,
For while the tender service made thee weep,
I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide
-- Tennyson