Happy Birthday, Big Sister

I am eleven-years-old. It is early fall in the Midwest. Cool enough for jeans and and sweatshirt, but warm enough to be outside. I leave the school playground with my head held high, but as I shuffle home in my Keds, I don't stop the tears.

And when I finally make it home, with my blotchy, red, face, she is there. With tissues and hugs she listens, and with the advice that only a big sister can give, we get out our tennis rackets and start banging balls as hard as we can, pretending that they are the heads of those mean girls.

My sister. She has been a guiding light since my birth. When I am weathering the stormy seas, she is a lighthouse that brings me back safely to shore. And on the rare occasion we brewed our own storm, she'd ride it out like a wise fisherman, until the waters died down and we could row back to safety, together.

There is no one who knows me like my sister does. We are linked by our common blood, by our sixteen years of living under one roof, by our thirty plus years of shared experiences, by our spirits that feel missing pieces when we're apart and sing whole again when we're together.

And even though we are equals, even though she is my sister and friend and a light of my spirit, I will always look up to her.

She will always be my Big Sister. Someone I want to make proud, someone I want to understand me.

Happy Birthday, Elisabeth. To a piece of my heart and a piece of my soul.

I love you.

xoxo.
Christine