One of my sisters made me a pillow that says, "I loved you too much to be your friend, so God let me be your sister." She was younger then. Now she is daring and bold. In many ways, she has gone where no sister has gone before. She is our version of being a girl and a woman all at once. She has always been.
One sister once told me that she loved me more than oxygen. I don't know if she knew at the time how much that meant to me, but I know she does now. Someone once asked how to tell us apart. At the time we rolled our eyes and laughed; little did we know that he was the knowing one. She is smart and wary. She has a keen eye and a quick wit and her still waters are some of the deepest I know.
One warrior sister is both fragile and strong. She once quipped that if straight teeth, pale skin and an ample bosom were all a girl needed to be beautiful in the Austen age, then she had been born in the wrong century. It's not hard to see why my kids preface her name with "hilarious." She taught me everything of the preciousness of life, when she nearly lost her own giving birth to another. Everything about her is beautiful.
One is tall and lithe. Concerted enough to jump into a sea of sisters and swim along. She is right brained and left brained and everything in between. She put on her dancing shoes and kept them on.
Another sister is tenacious and tried. She knows what it means to put someone else first; she has done it all her life. She dreams and then she does. She is everything giving and good. And she never (no not ever), gives up.
