s
SISTER
I only have one.
She was born on Halloween,
1978.
As children, we played
Barbies in the wee hours of the night, when we were supposed to be sleeping.
I treated her horribly most of the time, and she still
loved me. I didn’t deserve it, but she did.
She still does, and
thankfully, I grew up and stopped punishing her for things that weren’t her
fault.
In fact, when she was a
teenager, she moved in with me and our already blooming mother-daughter
relationship became solidified.
I love her beyond measure or
reason, and would give anything to ensure her safety and happiness.
I wept like a baby at her
wedding. I distinctly remember thinking: She
doesn’t need me anymore. It remains one of the most bittersweet, proud, and
sad moments of my life.
When her first child was
born, I felt like I finally understood the love grandparents have for their
grandchildren. I felt the same with each additional child.
She is, quite simply, the
most amazing and strong mother I have ever known. Her children are so incredibly
lucky to have her. I wish I had been half the mother to my boys that she is to
her young children.
She is passionate,
free-spirited, hilarious, loving, and beautiful.
She is my sister, but more
than that – my teacher, my confidant, my strong tower.
I think she’s always thought
that I am stronger than her. But to be honest, I am strong because of her.
Without her, I wouldn’t have
survived so many things.
I hope she knows that. I
hope I make it obvious how important she is.
I hope she feels it in her
bones, and it makes her stronger, too.
