sister.

word of the day: sister \sis-tər\ a female who has one or both parents in common with another

It’s funny how memories slip away.

Things that seem so significant at the time and then, years later, are only snapshots and still frames in your mind.  Sometimes I’m not even sure if I actually have a memory of something or if I’ve just put enough photographs together to make myself really believe I remember that moment in time. 

I don’t remember much from my childhood.  I wonder if it’s because I existed inside my head for much of it.  As a kid, I spent a great deal of my time alone with my imagination.  I contrived elaborate storylines and play acted all the roles with nary a spoken word.  If my bedroom door was closed, chances are I was pretending to be a servant girl who just so happened to be the long lost sister of the princess.  I was an only child.

For eight years, that is.  Then something significant happened: I became a big sister.  I wish I could say I remembered the day clearly.  That I remember walking up the steps to the attorney’s office.  That I remember sitting in the lobby picking at my fingers awaiting her arrival.  That I remember being caught speechless when my mom placed her in my arms for the first time.

I don’t really remember any of those things—there’s an oversized chair in my memory and a slight feeling of nervousness, but other than that, all I’ve got are the photo albums and verbal retellings.

I was thinking about it today and feeling badly that my memory is so fuzzy.  I was a third grader after all.  Isn’t that when you start remembering important things?

Here’s my theory: Hannah has just always been.  I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t my sister, and I totally prefer it that way. 

I don’t remember a time before her big, brown eyes entered the picture, and when I stop to think about it, I suddenly remember all the things that have become the still frames of my memory.

There are the times I treated her like a doll and dressed her up in all sorts of ensembles.  There are the times I forced her to sit in the basement with my chalkboard and jar of pipe cleaners trying to get her to write her name.  There are the times we tried our own version of Morse Code on the walls as we laid in bed at night.

I’ve been realizing lately that my baby sister isn’t a baby any more.  But some things never change.  She continues to be full of energy and her big, brown eyes can still melt your heart.  She continues to love people with a kindness I admire, and her loyalty is one of her best traits.  She can still beat me in a foot race because, let’s face it, I don’t know that there was ever any alternative.

It’s funny how memories slip away.  No matter how significant a moment of time is, as the years pass, little pieces of it chip away.  They come and go, but the picture is never as clear.

The solace is that the past is never as important as the right now.  And the truth of the right now is that I’ve never been so proud to be a big sister.