Through the Years

May 15, 2010

When I was two, she was the reason my mom disappeared for a few days, suddenly reappearing with a tiny new baby in her arms.

When I was four, she used to stealthily climb out of her crib to come crawl into bed with me, where we got caught nearly every time, chattering and giggling 'til well-past bedtime.

When I was I seven, my mom loved to see us in matching dresses and matching bad eighties perms, and we spent our afternoons staging elaborate paper doll shows in our room.When I was eight, we shared a queen-sized bed and she threw up on me while I was sleeping. And I got in trouble for it, because I fell asleep too close my sick sister. (How does that make sense?)
When I was ten, we were in Girl Scouts together, played 'school' on quiet afternoons, had weeks-long Monopoly tournaments, and helped our brother devise Mayes Olympics.When I was twelve, we survived Miss Lula Belle. There are no words to describe the experience.

When I was thirteen, we didn't always get along great. We argued over clothes and blamed each other for our messy bedroom. (She was the messy one, really!)

When I was fifteen, we remembered that we were a lot more the same than we were different. Band trips, drum corps, Aldo's pizza after football games. Staying out late with friends, and talking late into the night.
When I was twenty, she moved away, and I worried it would never be the same. I needn't have worried.

When I was twenty-two, she and I, along with our brother, made Hawaii an unforgettable vacation experience. Snorkeling, midnight swimming, conga-line dancing on a ship filled with Japanese tourists and us...Phil Collins "Another Day in Paradise" became our theme song.

When I was twenty-eight, I gave quite possibly the worst speech ever given by a Maid of Honor. My fear of public speaking combined with overwhelming emotions of love and a genuine wish for the very best life for her made it nearly an impossible feat. Somehow I managed through it. Just in case I ever want to remind myself why I don't give speeches, she has it on tape.

When I was thirty-one, we both looked forward to the impending arrivals of new little ones to our families. We also took on Paris together--The Lourve, The Eiffel Tower, The Palace at Versaille, and a nurse's strike (just to add to the excitement). It's still one of the best weeks of my life.When I was thirty-two, we both learned together how to say goodbye to our mother.

When I was thirty-six, we supported each other as we each embarked on new, empowering, but somewhat daunting paths in our lives.
When I was forty, we started dreaming of what it would be like to live in the same city again, watching our kids grow up together.
And when I was forty-two, she turned forty-one. And she's still my best friend--the person who knows me as much as I know myself, and the one who shares my history and my life in a way no one else does. Here's to many more birthdays to come.

Happy birthday, Lisa. Love you, Sis.