My sister and her husband, taken a few days ago. I think she looks so beautiful in this one!
I am the oldest of five children. The sister closest in age to me came into the world when I was four-and-a-half. Born the day before Halloween, I remember vividly the day my brother and I first met our new sister: there was a Halloween party for new siblings at the hospital. We sat in a circle with other small children and were asked to share the name of our new baby. I remember feeling nervous, not only because I was among strangers, but because my new sister had a tricky name; I repeated “Lydia, Lydia, Lydia” in my head over and over until it was my turn to share. I remember feeling proud in that moment.
Growing up, Lydia was the quiet, shy, dreamer of the family. Cute-as-a-button with golden hair and a sweet smile, her days were spent creating other worlds with intricate detail. I can still remember her leaning up against the wall during “family time” and shyly performing her latest song she had composed that day. Barbies were her toys of choice, second only perhaps to a good book. We called her “the perfect child” because she rarely got in trouble; we always enlisted her to ask mom and dad for things, because how could they say no to her?! My brother and I, like stereotypical pesky older siblings, used to spy on her and make fun, but I don’t remember her holding a grudge.
Lydia and I shared a room on and off for most of our childhood. It was a comfort looking over at the twin bed next to me, with the floral-patterned comforter that matched mine, and knowing she was there. We had different personalities, different interests and abilities, but somehow we were always placed together. When I went to college in Winston-Salem, she went to a boarding school nearby. When I went to graduate school on the North Shore of MA, she attended a college nearby. As brave as I appeared to be, those years away from my family were more bearable with a piece of home just minutes down the road. She came over and fixed my hair and makeup before sorority formals; we often attended church together; we had sleepovers and spent time with each others’ friends; we shared a car and went on grocery trips together, among other outings. Through the years, we got to know each other well, sharing in the triumphs and tribulations growing up in a fallen world brings. We’ve had our moments of tension, but I’ve shared a many a tear, anxious thought, and secret with Lydia. It’s safe to say she knows me better than most people in my life. Fast forward to more recent years: Lydia and I got married the same year and both have boys. She became a mother before me, so I often call her with a question or just for moral support. She is a wonderful wife and mother. Her skills in household management astound me.
It’s funny, as I reflect on our relationship for the past 27 years, I’ve always viewed myself as the “stronger” one. I, after all, am the Type-A, driven personality: afraid to fail, always in need of a plan, determined to succeed and please others. I am the elder and felt compelled to watch over her and take care of her, especially when we were away at school. But the reality is, she is the strong one. She is the one who has been there for me, taken care of me when I needed it. She has truly succeeded – overcoming odds that, most likely, would have crumbled me. Words cannot express how much I respect and admire my younger sister, who has grown into such a beautiful woman. I am more proud of her today than ever.
As family and friends can attest to, I love music and always have a song in my head. I can also always find a song to express how I’m feeling. A favorite blogger I read from time to time posted a link to a Rascal Flatts song, saying that it describes her relationship with her sister. I’m not a fan of the lead singer’s voice, but the words to this song really spoke to me and reminded me of my relationship with Lydia, especially these:
“I come around all broken down and
Crowded out
And you’re comfort
Sometimes the place I go
Is so deep and dark and desperate
I don’t know, I don’t know
…
Sometimes I swear, I don’t know if
I’m comin’ or goin’
But you always say something
Without even knowin’
That I’m hangin’ on to your words
With all of my might and it’s alright
Yeah, I’m alright for one more night-“
“Every Day” by Rascal Flatts
Thank you, Lydia. Thank you for listening to and loving this sometimes-neurotic older sister of yours. Patient and always forgiving, you encourage me. You get me. And for that I am eternally grateful.
