Letters I’m Writing: To My Sister

I was not the fastest, strongest, best looking, or smartest kid. I was the one picked last and targeted.

I was alone and misunderstood.

But before Ariana, you were my big sister.

If you’ve been the “hero” or “silent supporter,” this one is for you.

---

To my Big Sister,

You are the reason I am here today and able to put words on the screen expressing the outsized impact that you have had on my life.

I didn’t get to choose you as my big sister, but I would choose it again and again.

We grew up in the same home, with the same caretakers, and the same circumstances. Yet, as with any siblings, our experiences were vastly different.

Our worlds would often collide as I, the annoying little brother, wanted so badly to see the fascinating world of the “older kids.” I remember wanting to be by your side. Hang out with your friends and be accepted into your world.

Now, I didn’t realize I was doing this at the time. I was young. My brain not fully formed.

But, looking back, I don’t know if I needed to be accepted in your world as much as I just needed to be accepted.

Growing up the world was so unsafe for me. I woke up each day with my body shaking from pain, fear, and inescapable horror. I had no control over my life and I had no ability to defend myself against the bullies in school.

I didn’t know who I was, what I was, or my purpose.

I could not push myself in sports, because every time I started breathing heavy, I thought I was dying.

I could not push myself academically because my mind was so pre-occupied by fear, that I had nothing left to give to my studies.

And, it was all so uninteresting.

So, I lived inside the worlds of my video games and books. Spending hours immersed in other realities. Even writing my own. Typing them out on our barely functioning computer that wasn’t even able to do bold or italic text.

But sis, as I review the timeline of my life, amidst the pain, I see these bright spots that are impossible to miss.

When You Jumped Off The Porch

All the times you came to my aid and the lifetime you have spent protecting me whether you were near or distant.

I am convinced there isn’t a day that has started and ended where you weren’t ready to jump in and fight the bullies, push the bad thoughts away, or steer me back on course.

I must have been no more than ten years old, playing outside in our front yard on Down St., busily taking apart my toys in an attempt to re-engineer them, climbing the trees, and drinking out of the hose that hid between the low cut bushes.

When suddenly, a group of kids showed up spitting their taunts and desperate to make me bleed.

Knowing I could not win, I stood in silence. I took on all their malice and internalized it as truth of who I must be.

And before the first punch was thrown, you came rushing out of the front door, jumped off the small porch and into the yard next to me.

Panic overtook their faces as they slowly backed away and turned tail running down the street.

The Burden You Carried For Me

Dad left when I was young.

You were able to remember a life with our family intact.

I could not.

Growing up everyone would remind me how much I resembled this man I barely knew.

And the older I got, the more intense my desire to know him became. But my actions never followed my desires.

I was a scared 30 year old boy too afraid of his Dad and because of that dissonance I grew angry and resentful.

An off-handed comment about how I cut my food the way Dad did immediately brought bile into my throat.

I didn’t want to be anything like him.

But you never gave up.

You took on the burden of keeping him in our lives, however small and infrequent it was. Then we had our children and you carried that burden, not only for me, but for all our kids.

A daughter teaching her father how to be a Dad and Grandpa.

Then we got news that he was dying of cancer and in the span of one year we stood by his bedside as he took his last breath.

I was heartbroken he was gone but I had no regrets.

In that last year of his life, Dad and I reconciled and created a beautiful relationship. My inner child rejoiced and smiled.

All made possible because of the unfair burden you took on to keep the tiniest bit of connection to him in our lives.

The Nights I Lost Control

We grew out of our childhood and into adolescence.

Our relationship began taking a new form. Our friend groups overlapped.

But I still remained your little brother.

One night, after a house crawl on the street of your apartment, and partying with strangers and friends alike from house to house, I ended up sleeping in the bathtub of your apartment.

Or another night, hiding myself behind the couch from our friends and drunk crying.

I overdid it too many nights because I still longed to hang with the “older kids,” but more so, I was desperately numbing the pain I still carried.

The ultimate test of our relationship began the day I started dating Ariana.

There was something categorically different about her. There were qualities she possessed that I only found in one other person–you.

Early into our dating, I was standing in the garage, on the phone and listening to her tell me how difficult it was to handle the closeness that you and I shared.

She felt like a third wheel.

I couldn’t listen to it.

I screamed as I circled the hard pavement floor, building up in intensity until I pulled my leg back, tensed, and pushed it forward, kicking the hard plastic of the red and yellow car made for toddlers in front of me.

It took time. Adjustments, but eventually I watched you and Ariana become best friends.

We continued to grow older and finding our place in our budding families.

I stood in front of your stairs, and through a smile, told you that Ariana was pregnant before anyone else.

You were the first to know about everything in my life.

Both the good and the bad.

The Bully You Couldn’t Fight

The sun was lowering in the California sky, sending a beam of light into the van. I sat, hands and face resting on the steering wheel.

I was waiting for Ariana.

I lifted my head and reached over to my phone. I pulled up your contact and hit “call.”

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as my knuckles popped.

“Hey, C!” you answered.

“Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“Well, um, Ariana…she..uh…she has cancer.” The tears started rolling down my cheek.

The little boy in me, reaching out his hand for you.

We spent the next five years developing a callus to her cancer. Giving our best to establish a firm foundation for our children and spending time with our family.

I felt alone again.

This time though, it was an isolation that even evaded your presence.

On September 25, 2020 we admitted Ariana into hospice treatment.

We got her drugs.

We got her schedule.

The first step, putting on her fentanyl patch.

My hands shook as I held it. Whether conscious or unconscious you noticed and took control.

You slipped on the gloves, opened the package and carefully placed it on Ariana’s arm. Not before dropping it on the floor, sending me into a panic that the dogs would lick the residue and die from an overdose.

We spent the next five days living on her schedule of medicine. Not sleeping. Barely functioning.

You developed a routine of pill crushing and mixing, then injection into Ariana’s mouth.

You never left her side or mine.

My big sister showed up for me those five days, but this time, she couldn’t scare away the bullies.

The Language We Share

The world around continues to give us a side-eye when observing our closeness. They sigh in frustration at our room filling, roaring laughter that only we can understand.

Our love has been forged in the battles of our youth and the deep pain of our adulthood.

I lost my wife. You lost your best friend.

But in it we have had each other.

Blunt as your delivery may be, I know you enough to know how much love is underneath the–sometimes–unsolicited advice.

You aren’t always right, but you are enough that I take everything you say to heart.

I would miss our weekend trips away together.

The moments we have to let loose, laugh, and talk until 4:30AM when our flight leaves at 7AM.

I would miss our morning calls.

The time carved out each day to commiserate, support, and encourage each other.

I would miss the closeness we share if you were to disappear.

The belief that I am not alone anymore.

Any amount of joy, support, or care that I am fortunate to share with you is worth whatever it costs me.

We speak our own language.

Covert.

Obfuscated.

Unpredictable.

There is no one in this world that I could go spend a weekend with and laugh as hard as I do with you.

You are, without a doubt, the greatest big sister.

You’ve made me a better man, father, husband, friend, partner, and son.

I love you deeply.

From your forever younger (and better looking) brother,

- CJ

P.S. If you are trying to figure out who you are now that your person is gone, I built a free email course called Identity After Grief: The 8-Day Rebuild. It helps you start putting the pieces back together. Join the free 8-day course her

---

---

If you enjoyed this read, the best compliment I could receive would be if you shared it with one person or restacked it.