My kid sister turns 50 today.  Muriel tells me not to say that because it makes me sound old (not Terri mind you but me. Love that girl.)  I’m not going to call her my kid sister any more, not because it makes me sound old, because somehow her arriving at 50 makes us even.

It’s a strange thing about age.  At some ages it matters a tremendous amount and then at some ages it doesn’t matter at all.  When you’ve been through as much as we have, and seen as much as we’ve seen, the years just fall away.  When you’ve learned as much as we have it narrows the gap, especially for me.  I’ve learned more about my shortcomings by watching her strength, more about kindness by her grace, more about patience by watching her move around in the world.

I’m relinquishing my self-imposed role of fixer.  I’ve stuck my nose in things my entire life with the best of intentions and sometimes a very good outcome.  But she (and himself) have taught me that falling down isn’t always the worst thing that can happen to a person.  When asked (that being the key here) I will be at her side in a heartbeat.  When necessary (and without being asked) I will walk her through the big things that overwhelm even the strongest of souls.  Other than that she is perfectly capable of handling her own life on the way to leaving an extraordinary legacy.

That said we are sisters with all that signifies.  I was reminded just recently about the significance of close sisters.  When Marcy and I were catching up recently the memories of her favorite Aunt came up.  She was a fixture in our childhood, everyone called her Auntie.   She died just recently and we were both surprised by the impact her death had on us.  I wrote Marcy’s mother a note letting her know what fond memories I had of her sister and that I would never forget her.   Marcy let me know that her mother had to get to her sister’s side the night she died, no matter the distance, the discomfort of travel, the amount of time it might take.  She had to be there.  Marcy seemed to understand but I know like I know that come hell or high water she would not let her sister be alone.

I hear stories of estranged sisters, I hear of arguments that last years and years.  I can’t in my wildest imagination picture not having my sister fully ensconced in my life.  I just don’t get it. Don’t think for a moment that we haven’t had some very lively conversation, bordering on the knock down drag out variety, but we take a breath and remember our history, our worth, and the fact that we just can’t get through a day without talking. Or laughing.  Or using the secret sister codes.

So Happy Birthday Terri, stop worrying if I’ll use the key to your house to surprise you without your permission, we’re even.