A Sister's Love

Dear Kee,

Never could I be able to thank you as much as I truly want to. There is so much about you that the world just doesn’t know. That I wish I could shout and everyone would know just how strong you are. You haven’t had an easy life, and I know becoming an older sister to twins when you’re about to turn nineteen two weeks later, might not have been ideal, but you’ve taken life and you’ve worked with what you have. I couldn’t imagine how you felt that day. I couldn’t be there because I was only two, but I was there when you needed the laughs. When you needed to know, we came to help you. You lost your child when you were only twenty-one. He was only a day old. And not just that, you found out you had a devastating autoimmune disorder; lupus. I can’t remember your tears, but I remember your pain. Every day you staggered to your feet and went through your day, even when your body couldn’t handle it. Even when you were on the bathroom floor crunched up in pain. You never gave up. But that day still rings inside your head and sometimes still makes you cry. You never let it show that you were as hurt as you were. You took the role and you became a mother to your sisters. Loving us like no one had ever done. Until one day, you did have a child of your own, but you never forgot the two that were there for you in the beginning.

You helped me through the hardest time of my life. I was scared behind those doors, not knowing when I would get out. No one knew that I was hurt, I wasn’t a danger to myself. But hearing your voice, knowing you were in my corner, knowing that you are still there to see me succeed; that’s something that made me want to do my best to get out. I would call you in tears and you always listen. I may not be so loving, or show my love like you, but you’re always there to give a hug and kiss. Telling me everyday just how much you love me.

But no one could know just how strong you’ve been. I thought those marks on your arms were because you had bad dreams. I could never imagine you were self harming. That mental pain of losing a child still hurt, but you never took it out on your babies. You made sure that we had love in our lives. And we made sure you had the same.

Your body, I’ve been able to watch through the twenty-five years of my life, showed just how debilitating Lupus could be. You were a mover. Always on the go. Job after job, dedicated to your individuality, but you knew that slowly, your body was taking over. From being able to move so freely, to walking with a cane. Your body, now riddled with arthritis. You lost your chance to work. You watched two of your kids drown in mental turmoil. You lived off of nothing. You fought for years to get an income, but not once did you blame your illness. Not once did you give up. Even when those many years of rejection started to take its toll on you. You pushed through. You kept pushing for disability, you kept helping the ones you loved, you stayed positive through all these years, and I could never understand. You could blame the world. You could blame your illness. You could even go as far to blame God, but you didn’t.

Toughness isn’t defined by one thing. Toughness is defined by how you mentally handle your downs. Your trauma. And you’ve handled it like a warrior. You are a wonder. You are an angel. You’re my everything. The thing I needed the most. The one I still do. I may not show it all the time. I may not tell you to your face. But you are the toughest woman I know because you never let your body, your life, or what you had to deal with let you down. You stay with your head. And I don’t think I can ever tell you just how grateful I am to have you in my life.