I hate her.
I grew my toenails out and cut them into points. We were 8 and if sister bedmate crossed the line – I wasn’t afraid to cut.
I love her.
I backed the fair bully into a pig stall and told her I would kick her ass, make her eat swine shit, and tell everyone she loved it if she didn’t leave my family alone. No one picks on my sister, but me.
I hate her.
I tied all her shoes together, called her a fat cow, and said, “I choose my friends but you, you I just got stuck with.”
I love her.
I was terrified and I was sick. I didn’t have ‘it’ anymore. I had lost my nerve. But, I practiced for months, I knew the songs and I stood up in front of everyone and poured the heart of my music into the church of her choice. It was her day. The day she married her beloved.
I hate her.
I screamed at her that she was undependable, unreliable and a pathetic excuse for a sister. I threw her stuff on the floor and stormed out. She had locked my keys in my apartment over the weekend and trapped my dog inside. I couldn’t get in. It was late. How could she be so stupid? I mean come on, all she had to do was walk the damn dog and she couldn’t even get that right.
I love her.
Life got hard. Really hard, and she didn’t want to see anyone. No one understood and I was 1500 miles away. So, I did what any big sister does… I booked the trip, flew back home and filled the room where she slept with presents. At sunrise we had a surprise baby shower, just the three of us.
I hate her.
It’s been a year since we’ve talked. Why doesn’t she call? I’m the one who was always there. I wasn’t the best sister (I didn’t tell the worst things I have done) but I was the one who loved her with all of my heart. I was the one that listened. I was the one that showed up. Dammit. Why, why doesn’t she call?
She is my family, my best friend, my sister, my mirror, and my person. She is an extension of who I am. When I breathe, it is part of her I exhale. Everyday. And in this moment, I’m still figuring out who I am without her.
I love her.
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