Reflections from an older sister

They're slipping through my fingers, those two

*Note: In typical wonky pancake older sister fashion, I originally spelled “reflections” incorrectly in my own title… very very embarrassed, but hey! We’re all human. Those of you who came from the email, where my edit won’t change, please don’t judge me too harshly haha.

Lesson learned: Don’t change the title of your post at 10PM, everyone!

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I have always been a big sister. My twin made sure of that when he arrived second.

One of my sisters just recently graduated from high school. She is the brightest light in the universe, and it killed me that I couldn’t be there to scream her name and hug her until I crushed her bones. If I hadn’t accepted an internship eight hours away from home, I would have been there, probably with tears in my eyes because I’m the eldest sister, and I’m like that. Because that’s my sister, and I am so proud of her.

A few weeks back, my mom and my other sister, who is much younger than any of us, FaceTimed me. They’d gone shopping and, in the words of my youngest sister, wanted to show me “the haul.” I had been on my way out the door, but I paused and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face as she modeled her newest pajama set. There is so much joy in that girl’s heart, and it kills me that I had to grow up and move away while she is still in metamorphosis. I’m watching her grow up in photos and video calls.

I am the eldest sister, the eldest daughter, the eldest granddaughter. A terrifying combination. And I don’t think younger sisters are able to fathom the love we have for them. Because I can’t listen to Slipping Through My Fingers without thinking of my sisters.

I’m always torn around my sisters. I want to embrace them. I think back to the moments where I said insensitive things and I cringe. I want to scream at them. I want to apologize for every way I’ve ever hurt them. I remember the laughter and the tears. I want them to hug me first. I want them to call me more. I want to go get coffee with them. I’m scared to make the first move. I’m scared to scare them off.

We’ve all wounded each other, but we always seem to stitch each other back together. That’s true sisterhood.

I don’t think they’ll ever fully grasp what goes on in my head when I look at them. I think it must be close to an emotional seizure.

Can my sisters understand why watching Black Widow for the first time was so utterly difficult for me because I saw it when we were in different states, and all I wanted to do was hug them after? Can they fathom that I only started relating to Natasha Romanoff after Marvel revealed that she was a big sister?

Can they understand Katniss in the same way that I do? Katniss Everdeen, who only ever wanted to save her sister, a character I only understood once I got a little older?

There’s an ache in my throat when I go home anymore. Life has gone on in my absence. Childhood is over the moment a sibling leaves, just like Jo March knew it would on Meg’s wedding day. I ended childhood. For all of us. I left and we all kept living.

I’m sorry that I still see you both like the little girls I always wanted to protect.

My first clear memory is the day of my sister’s birth. At least, I think it was that day. I don’t remember meeting her, oddly enough. It was October, a Halloween party at my grandparents’ old house. I was dressed as a witch, but my dress was full of color. And I knew that she was coming.

My other sister was God’s biggest joke on our family, joining our ranks when I was in sixth grade. I remember that day so clearly: as my cousins and I traveled with my grandparents to our family Christmas party, we waited for updates from my parents. And when we got the call that she had arrived, we would never be the same.

Childhood is over. I’m twenty-two, I get that. But maybe a tiny part of me wanted to cling a little tighter to those golden moments, even as I was walking out the door. Now, when I look back, the picture is faded around the edges.

We are not meant to remain together forever. I am well aware. And yet, I find myself gripping onto my sisters’ hands as they try to slip past me, right out the door, out into that big beautiful scary world. I swallow back the tears and hope that I’ve trained them well enough, even though it was never my job to train them. Or maybe it was. Was it? Was I ever responsible for them at all? I think so. My heart says so, at least.

The older sister role is so muddied, I hardly understand it myself. I’m not sure any of us do. And I know I’ve messed up. But I was trying, and I’m still trying.

I worry that sometimes, they might resent me for holding on so tightly. Or at the very least, I might cause them to roll their eyes. I wouldn’t blame them. I should be more willing to leave, but it’s safer at home. The memories of how beautiful things once were feel more comforting than the world outside. I’ve seen the world, and I love it, but that selfish, cowardly, homebody part of me wants things to stay as they were.

I know I should let it go.

They used to be so little.

Board games. Walks around the neighborhood. Ice cream. Picnics. Say Yes to the Dress. Reading aloud. Dreaming aloud. Being loud.

In that shared childhood bedroom from so many years ago, one would talk my ear off at night until I’d pretend to be asleep. We survived COVID by taking walks around the neighborhood together. When I started writing what I call my first real novel, I never considered a chapter finished until I read it to her. I cry whenever I see her perform in a musical.

And then, my second sister. My surprise girl. I love, love, love watching movies with her, especially when she snuggles up beside me. Years ago, we would put on funny hats and bring drinks out to the backyard, where we’d read together. She drew a cover for the binder where I kept that first manuscript, and I still have it. I endure the occasional crick in the neck after a night on the couch because she loves sibling sleepovers, and I’m so rarely around anymore.

Once, I convinced them both to don summer dresses and accompany me on a picnic. Another time, I dragged them out to a beautiful garden for the afternoon.

How I love them, those ridiculous women. We used to play The Game of Life. Now, we’re playing the game of life.

I love you. I love you, and I’m so sorry for all the times when my love sounded like anger, or judgement, or impatience, or irritation, or harshness. You never deserved my ire. I really hope I didn’t mess you up too much.

And there’s this nostalgic, weepy, pathetic, scared little section of my heart that is constantly whispering please, keep being my friend.

I told you it was pathetic.

But I’m the oldest sister. It’s my job to be a little pathetic, a little nostalgic, a little stubborn, very loving, and very independent. These traits serve the role well. I’m a friend, a mentor, an adversary, a playmate, a babysitter, a tutor, a therapist, a storyteller, a chauffeur, a dreamer, a soldier, an intellectual, and a believer. I wear a lot of funny hats. Always have.

I get to see them again soon, and I am over-the-moon excited. I can’t wait to hug them both.

And it has been my joy and privilege to watch them both grow up. To impulsively go through the McDonald’s drive-through with one younger sister driving the car and the other ordering from the backseat. And I just get to sit there in the passenger seat and love them. It’s all I want. To be sitting in the passenger seat of their lives every once in a while.

I look to the past and smile. I look to the present and smile. I look to the future and smile, too.

It’s often said that the tragedy of life is that we don’t tell people that we love them before it’s too late. I’m not letting those chances slip through my fingers, even if my sisters are already slipping away from me, just like they are supposed to be doing.

They might never understand the depth of my love for them, but at least they’ll know it. I’ll spend my life proving it.

I’m one call away.

Please, don’t forget to remember me once in a while.

I’m still growing, too.

I can’t wait to hug you again.

I love you.

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