I begged my parents for a sister for the first 10 years of my life. I got 3 brothers instead. So when I turned 10 I decided I was done hoping for a sister, and besides, I was getting good at getting the boys to take all the blame for our hijinx. Well, in March 1992 my parents gave me a sister. Which when you are 11 is like getting a real live baby doll. One I could dress up and play with.
But then we moved and we ended up sharing a room. The size was great, but what 14 year old wants to share a room with a 2 year old? Especially a 2 year old that spills her nail polish, eats her makeup and throws all her books to the floor. And don’t get me started about her claiming all my toys. Whenever I used to complain to my parents, they always reminded me that I wanted a sister. That I had begged for one. It was a losing battle. Besides, late at night she used to crawl into the top bunk bed with me, and there is nothing like the cuddling of a 2 year old when you’ve had a bad day. She was also the subject of my horrible nightmares of falling off a cliff. I was trying to rescue her, showing my love for her.
We moved again, and this time I got my own room that I could lock. Until she figured out how to pop the lock open with a broom. She was 5 and I was 17. I was dating, and she was starting kindergarten. Once I got a better lock, we didn’t have much to do with each other, unless I had to babysit. It continued like this until I got married. As Nick and I were driving away in the limo, my sister was bawling. I was leaving her. I didn’t realize how much she looked up to me, and what a huge part of her life I was until that moment.
For the first 6 years of marriage, we lived within 2 miles of my parents. This was convenient for my sister who loved to sleep over at my house. And as we got older, we were able to talk more and more. I attended her concerts at elementary school, then junior high. I was there for her baptism, and her starting Young Womens. I was able to help her complete her YW awards.
And then we were moving to Boston. She was getting her learners permit, and I helped her learn to park. We drove around a parking lot at about 5 miles an hour. She moved up to 10, and was petrified she would crash the car! I drove across the country from Utah to Boston with just her and the dog for company. We did a lot of talking. About boys, and hopes, and dreams, and plans. She spent a week with us before we put her on a plane back to Utah.
And since then, it’s been phone calls, and blogs, and emails. We did go to Disney World together, and we were able to spend some time together there. She bought me a Stitch doll, that makes me smile and slightly well up with tears when I see it.
About a month ago the doctor’s realized that something was wrong with her. She has a pituary tumor. She is getting it removed on June 5. And I won’t be there. I’m proud of how well she’s taking it. She jokes about it, and has even named it Frederick. But underneath it, I know she’s scared. It’s most likely benign (99% of them are). But it’s still a scary thing to be having surgery. I’m proud of the strength she’s showing. A couple of years ago, she would have freaked out and told the whole world she is dying. But my little sister is growning up. I love you Chelsea, and will be praying for you.