My little Sister

Candice. 3 years, 2 months, 20 days younger. Taller than me. Same color eyes. Lighter hair. Similar sense of humor. Slightly higher voice.

I hope my sister knows how much I love her. I remember when she was little and not feeling well; she rested on the couch with her head in my lap and looked up at me. She was maybe five, and I was eight. I rubbed her forehead and stroked her hair away from her face over and over until she felt better. My first conscious memory is the day she was born. I was told I had a new little sister, and I asked: "Did she miss me?" I remember picking out flowers for her in the gift shop with Dad. I selected a basket with pink and yellow plastic daisies. My sister and I grew up together. We played Barbies together. She always had the top bedroom in the doll house, but I had the canopy bed for my doll. We watched silly television together and always seemed to find ways to amuse ourselves. We built mud houses by the leaky irrigation riser next to our house. We ran barefoot. We helped Mom in the garden. Together we climbed on potato diggers and into the truck beds filled with grain. We dressed Dad up with hair bows and Mom's old makeup. We made special menus for Mom and Dad and served them raw peas on their anniversary. I wrote in her journal for her while she dictated the details of her first date with Casey. I've shared my life with my sister. And I love her.

Now she is expecting her first baby. I've been the older sister and have done many firsts, first to get my license, first to graduate, first to go to college, first to get married. Now my sister is facing a monumental first in our family. The truth about Candice is that she has always had the courage to go first. When we were little she volunteered to have her ears pierced first, and I cautiously watched my little, brave sister step up. Now she's a spunky, fun, spirited woman. And I'm proud of her.

She's my little sister.