You have always been steadfastly loyal and unpredictably cool. You kicked the male nurse who gave me a shot and made me cry when we were 5 and 3 years old, respectively. And you hid under the table with me and protested the unfair giving-of-shots. You came to me to help you learn to read and to pick out clothes for school dances. And even though you’re now taller than I am, you will always be my ‘little’ sister because you were once so small that I could hold you in my 2.5 year-old arms.
You were the first person to think I was funny. You would stop crying only when I hid behind the couch and popped out yelling “Bugs Bunny!” You put up with my dictator-like bossiness and whenever we played pirates or orphans or runaways, your acting skills were impeccable.
You grew up to be amazing, you know. Whatever you want to do, you study and learn and master. Your painting and sketching and doodling skills were always beyond your years, but the ability you have to capture a telling moment in someone’s life with a camera is rare and precious, and I hope you never let it go, no matter how many other paths you pursue. The world through your lens and through your eye just makes more sense.
Your attention to detail has always been astonishing. From age 2, you were the master of finding lost things, a talent you’ve now made into a career. The niche you’ve carved out seems so perfect and fitting, it’s less of a career and more of a ‘thing’ you’ve just always been doing.
When your best friend was being picked on in elementary school by the future-tea-partiers of America for being gay, you alone stood up to every single one of them and told them that they could go to hell. I couldn’t have been more proud of you as you stalwartly faced losing friends and popularity to stay true to what you thought was right. You were just a kid and you asked for nothing in return, but then you gained a lifelong friend who has become more like a brother to you.
To this day, no one can get under my skin like you do. Being in disagreement is always extremely aggravating, just as being in sync seems to return balance to the universe. I can’t imagine sharing the same parents with anyone else and I count my lucky stars whenever they do something amazing or embarrassing or weird or nurturing or terrible and I have you to talk to about it.
What can I say? Other than something older-sisterly, like, you’re more important to the people in your life than you realize, and that one day we’ll be the weirdest old ladies on the block, listening to Patsy Cline and “nailing” Jim Carrey impersonations.