I Thought My Sister Would Die

Every time my little sister's legs broke out in tiny red spots, I knew she would become very sick and would go back to the hospital.

Before I continue, let me tell you how we were two peas in a pod. Inseparable. Best Friends. Thick as Thieves.

I was the bossy one.

I was the big sister, after all.

But I did love and protect her.

Our favorite games to play were usually done outside with fairy dolls or these six-inch baby dolls we got from Walmart back in 2001.

Because we were obsessed with fairies, naturally, we chose fairy names for our baby dolls. Mine was called Pinkrose and hers was called Sunshine.

We took those dolls everywhere.

And if either of us were struggling with something, we'd talk it out using those dolls as the communicators.

"Hey Sunshine, what's wrong?"

"Hi Pinkrose, I'm just scared to go to school."

But other than playing with dolls, we loved climbing trees, dancing in the rain, and making fairy houses outside using tree bark, moss, pebbles, rocks, sticks, acorns, berries, and whatever else we could find.

And late at night, when we couldn't sleep, we'd "visit" each other's beds like they were houses and whisper stories to one another. Sometimes, I'd sing us to sleep.

My favorite memory of us was when we stayed up all night just to see the sunrise. At the time, we didn't know time existed past nine o'clock.

We thought everything sort of paused or disappeared into nothing.

And it wasn't until the first person woke up that a new day began so others could begin their day too.

Staying up all night at the ages of ten and eight was hard! I'm still surprised, as a twenty-eight-year-old adult, how we did it.

But we took turns helping each other stay awake as quietly as we dared because our parents were right below us and those old wooden floorboards were not forgiving.

Each hour that passed gave us a thrill!

Just for a moment, it felt as though we owned the night. Like we were the guardians, ensuring everyone else slept through the night.

Then, as the sky began to lighten and the GE wood grain radio alarm clock read 4:30 am, we were ready to sit on the porch and wait.

For the first time, we discovered that time after falling asleep truly did exist.

And time with my sister became something I clung to when she suddenly fell ill and none of the doctors knew how to treat her.

All they knew was that her immune system was attacking itself.

Killing every good thing inside her.

My sister was already naturally thin, so when she couldn't eat, drink, or walk and became a living skeleton constantly hooked up to an IV, I truly thought she was going to die.

I remember listening to the grown-ups talk from the bottom of the stairs at my grandparent's house. While I can't recall the words that were said, I remember the hushed voices, the silence, the prayers, and the vacant look in my mother's eyes.

She was only eight years old.

One day, I climbed our favorite tree. The one we liked to sit in the branches and pretend we were fairies. I felt alone. Scared. And helpless. What could a ten-year-old do?

With tears streaming down my face, I cried out to God.

"Please make her better. She's my sister and best friend."

I was only ten years old and she was only eight.

This was also around the time I was getting bullied at school. Kids called me a crybaby, I was failing math, I ended up with anxiety, and constantly faked illness so I could stay home with my sister. And just when I'd finally made a friend, one of her other friends got jealous and made every day a living hell for me.

One day, while my sister and I lay in the grass in our front yard looking for the animals in the puffy white clouds, we decided to make a promise to one another.

"If you die," I said, "when you get to heaven, ask God if you can come to visit me."

"And if you die," she said, "make sure you come to visit me too."

We linked pinkies and that was that.

I don't remember much after that, but I do know she did get better. Through multiple experimental treatments, blood draws, testing, medicines, etc.

She slowly gained her weight back.

She could eat again.

She could walk again.

She could play again.

And while we aren't as close as we once were today...

I still love her to death.

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I have cried multiple times while writing this and re-reading it to make edits. Because I still mourn the relationship we once had. But I have three children myself, so I've gotten a glimpse of what it was like from my parent's perspective.