Love Tour 2011: The Sister

Jason (Cindi's son), Cindi, and me

My sister is 20 years older than me.  That means she was out of the house and married before I was born.  That means we didn't grow up together.  We didn't share clothes, secrets, fights, or bathrooms.  It's not your average sisterly relationship, I suppose.  Throughout my life people have asked if it feels more like having a second mom.  I guess that would be a logical conclusion, but my answer is always no.  Even though my nephew, her son, is pretty much my age, she is my sister.  The only sister I'll ever know, and she has always been great to me.

I give her all the credit for forging a sisterly relationship when she didn't have to.  By some magic, she always made me feel like an equal.  She talked to me like my thoughts mattered.  She gave me great advice about all the things older sisters know:  hair, makeup, fashion, posture, weight, boys, dating, and friends, but she didn't try to raise me.  She was patient and withheld her judgement, even in my super awkward years.  She let me raid her closet when I came to visit, and still does.  (She has a great closet, by the way.)

I loved visiting my sister.  In my opinion, she was the coolest grownup I knew.  She was so pretty and smart and independent, and perhaps one of the funniest people on the planet.  She was fashionable and talented, and she lived in the city and listened to loud music in the car.  She was really, really cool, and I watched everything she did with interest.  She let me spend a few weeks with her and her family every summer. (Which, looking back on it as an adult, was no small thing considering how full her hands already were.)  She didn't have to do that, but she did so that we could know one another.  And even though I was nearly the same age as her children, she somehow met me where I was and treated me like a sister.  That was some trick of magic that I still don't understand.  I can just tell you that she did it and still does.

Can you believe that she will call me and say, "I need your advice on something."  That's the kind of thing I'm talking about.  I don't really think she needs my advice, but I'm totally flattered that she would say that she did.  She's done a million little things like that for me, and she's done a lot of big things, too.

There was the time when she paid to have my car fixed when I was in college.  That was big.  And then she let me have my wedding reception at her house when she was hurrying to finish up a remodel.  That was huge.  And then she traveled hundreds of miles just to see me in a play.  I'll never forget that.  But the times that mean the most to me, were those when I was really hurting, really needing help, and I knew I could run to her.  When, during my second year of college, I was feeling undo pressure from a guy to get engaged and I wasn't sure how to handle it, her house was my escape for a few days.  Years later, when I was struggling in my young marriage, I limped to her home to lick my wounds.  In both cases, she just opened her door, let me stay as long as I needed, listened, withheld any judgement, didn't tell me what I should do, just talked with me and assured me that I was going to be okay.  Her uncanny ability to unconditionally love and accept me gave me the courage to find my own way.

And, I mean, I don't know.  I don't have a lot of experience with your usual sister relationships, but I think that's what sisters are supposed to do.  At least that's the way it is with mine, and I'm so glad.  So very, very glad.

This year summer we played a few days at her house, cousins included:

Thanks again, Sis, for everything.