Dear Emmy-
You were born on a Sunday—Mother’s Day, in fact. I
stayed the night with a friend and Dad called early that morning to tell me I
had a new sister. (I was relieved. A little brother was out of the
question because I didn’t want to share my room with Legos or G.I. Joes.) I
got dressed in a blue and white romper that had ties at each shoulder. Grammie
drove down from Austin to
take me to the hospital to meet you for the first time.
When we got there, Mom and Dad were still debating whether
to name you Ashley or Taylor. Your umbilical cord stump was alarming. (My
six-year old brain was convinced that you were born with an olive stuck to your
belly button; Mom promised me it was normal.) You looked small, but I remember
being surprised at how heavy you were. With you in my arms on your
very first day, I recognized that having a sister was weighty,
substantive. And I loved you.
Curiously, I don’t have many memories of your infancy. I remember that you grew into an adorable toddler and an enviable preschooler. I remember that you would sing and tap dance for anyone who would smile. I remember Mom trying to convince you not to talk to strangers and you declaring (emphatically) that “all the people in the mall aren't my strangers, they’re MY friends!” I remember that you were charming and entertaining and effervescent. As you grew up, it was clear you were also brilliant. And happy. And energetic. And so many other wonderful things.
Curiously, I don’t have many memories of your infancy. I remember that you grew into an adorable toddler and an enviable preschooler. I remember that you would sing and tap dance for anyone who would smile. I remember Mom trying to convince you not to talk to strangers and you declaring (emphatically) that “all the people in the mall aren't my strangers, they’re MY friends!” I remember that you were charming and entertaining and effervescent. As you grew up, it was clear you were also brilliant. And happy. And energetic. And so many other wonderful things.
It’s a crying shame, I know, but it took me twenty years to
appreciate the person that you are. Now, on your twenty-fifth
birthday, I want to tell you that I love you twenty-five million times more
than I did when we first met, on your birth day. I love that you are
good-natured and patient and overwhelmingly, breathtakingly optimistic.
Being your sister is substantive; knowing you has
been a saving grace in the past few years. I love you Sister, and I wish you all the best
today and always.
Sincerely,
SEE
What a wonderful birthday present!! I love you and tell Sarah that I love and miss her too. I hope your birth day was just how you liked it to be.
ReplyDelete