My Sister

My sister has a river of life inside of her. She was born with it.

Me? I was born with a creek. I had to outsource immediately and, lucky for me, she was very close by, just twenty months my senior.

I grew up watching and sometimes cowering under her smooth confidence and assurance in so many things that left me terribly fearful. I watched her learn to drive and thought, "I'll never be able to do it that well."
She was so sure and certain.

I watched her audition for groups and clubs and not get into some, and slide right in to her spot in others. She could take pain and joy straight to heart, and she could shake off unnecessary social drivel without it ever leaving a trace.
I wanted to be like her so much.

Six years ago, we were pregnant at the same time and began calling each other everyday. We rarely miss a day, always having news to share or concern over the perception of no news to share. 

Nothing is even worth talking about with her.

A year ago today, she delivered her son, my nephew, and he lived a few short hours. He lived fully and fiercely loved by his parents, his big sister, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, and an entire community of saints that still speak his name.
Soon after his death, my brother shared with me the Hindu belief that children choose their parents when they come into this world. I am strangely, deeply comforted by the notion that my nephew's soul chose a family that would love him so hard in the hours of his life here.

Though today has been teary and hard, we continue to celebrate him and all that he has taught our family. His earthly life was fed by the most beautiful river, one I admire daily, seeking guidance and direction.

We grow from his life every day, and my sister's river flows on, vibrant as ever.