My first memory of her is watching my mom bathe her in the kitchen sink of our outdated farmhouse. Tiny with a head full of dark hair, she was the complete opposite of me. After all, I was a mature 5 1/2 (ALMOST 6) year old with princess-golden hair (hey...it's my story, so let me embellish a little!). I was fascinated by her little movements and sounds. And I was happy to have my very own LIVE doll baby!
Years went by. It wasn't much fun to have a toddler always dragging out my toys and putting them in places I couldn't find them. It really wasn't fun when I was stuck at Brownies one night until a family friend finally came to pick me up because my parents had the entire neighborhood searching for her. She decided to play hide-and-seek with my mom. Tucked under the hanging clothes in our closet, she heard my mom frantically calling her name & became too afraid to come out. My parents were too concerned with finding her that they didn't even think about me sitting on the steps at the Brownie shack, feeling very alone and very forgotten. Suddenly, I was NOT fascinated by her anymore!
Then came her "artsy" period. She bleached her jeans, dyed her hair & CUT MY CLOTHES. I could only stay out past curfew if I was picking her up from the skating rink (which I still, to this day, don't understand). She resisted my attempts to mother her (I wonder why?!). She did NOT want to be like me in any way, shape or form. I was the "golden child". She was the "black sheep". I studied. She socialized. I worked. She played. I obeyed (mostly). She rebelled with everything in her. We were polar opposites.
Flash forward through the squabbles, hurt feelings and words that should've never been spoken. I went to college and returned home to work. We both married. She had a son so much like her that every time I saw him, I was overwhelmed by memories of our childhood (just the good ones). Then she had a daughter. Six months later, I gave birth to CJ. And there she was, at the hospital, holding my baby and grinning from ear to ear. I knew our relationship would be forever changed.
Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another,"What! You too? I thought I was the only one!" ~ C.S. Lewis
Throughout the past eleven years, my sister & I have been through a lot together. We've swapped war stories. I've given advice & she's listened. She's given advice & I've listened. I suddenly realized that
younger doesn't mean
not wiser, and
older doesn't mean
I know it all. We've fought battles together, spent hours on the phone, and even joked about moving our families to Alaska together (I'm still up for that, by the way!). She loves and respects my husband. Of course, we're crazy about the kids. And I would lay down my life for her.
The difference in our ages often means we don't share the same childhood memories, so our friendship is largely based on the women we've become as adults. Still, she's the only other person raised full-time in my home. We share DNA and a history no one else will ever understand. It took a long time to realize that. You see, God made us sisters. Then, when we were ready, He made us friends.
Happy Birthday, Sis! My life is certainly more interesting because of you, and I wouldn't have it any other way ;-)
