My First Sister

Thirty-nine years ago today, I became a big sister. 

 

At the age of 2½, I can’t say I remember the day clearly. Although I do have a memory of visiting Katey in the hospital, I don’t remember a whole lot about her arrival or the way it changed my life. Although I’m sure it did. Siblings always change your life.

 

I can’t remember my first clear memory of Katey. She’s just always been there. Story time at the library, dancing in the driveway in the rain in Texas, playing school or house in our upstairs room in Tennessee, or throwing imaginary coconut bombs and the imaginary pirates invading our backyard. Riding bikes, climbing trees, playing on the swing set. Using every square inch of our room playing Barbies andMy Little Ponies, or sleeping in our double bed with every stuffed animal we owned. Our interests differed and would take us different ways. I can’t draw a straight line while her house (and even mine) is full of art painted or chalked by her. Meanwhile, she would never think of spending her time in an office happily building excel spreadsheets. She loves music. I carve out a narrow sliver of time to bury myself in a book before bed. But today we’re both moms, we both have loads of laundry to do, and we both have meals to prepare that are devoured in less than half the time it takes us to fix them. 

 

As always, we’re very different. And very much the same.

 

I’m grateful for Katey…and that I can’t remember life without her.