I love being a big sister. I have a sister who is seventeen months younger than me. When my dad dropped me off at my grandma's before my sister was born, he told me to be good and that they were going to get me a new baby. He says that I just lit up, and was so excited.
I have a favorite Big Sister Moment with her. When she was in kindergarten and I was in first grade, she had to get stitches in the soft spot of her hand, between your thumb and your pointer finger. Because that's kind of an awkward and sensitive spot, her entire hand was pretty much wrapped in gauze. She didn't want anyone at school to tease her, so she asked me to walk her to class for a week, because I was her big sister.
I think that's one of my favorite memories with her because we didn't really get along much growing up. We're like night and day in personality, in the things we like and do, in almost everything. Once we got to junior high and high school, she wanted nothing to do with me, because, as she told me on more than one occasion, she was embarrassed to be my sister. I was always so proud of her and I never understood why she couldn't just be my sister.
It's a wound that's been reopened in the last month. As my sisters and I have gotten older, we get along better and we're friends. Or at least, we were. I look at my parents and they don't really talk to or see their siblings except for special occasions, and I've never wanted that with my sisters. I've always been closer with my youngest sister, but things were getting better with my middle sister, and we were getting closer, getting along, being friends.
I know that it's difficult for her to know that I am gay. I know she's struggling with it. I'm trying to give her time and space and I'm hoping that someday, we can be friends again.
But I miss her.