To my beautiful, brave, and incredible older sister:
So. It's happened. You've bought your first ever one-way ticket. You've sent in all the possible applications you could possibly ever send in. You've cried. You've laughed. You've dreaded this day for way too long.
There are so many things to say, and yet, now that it has come down to this one moment, I've found that I am almost at a loss for words. What do you say to a person that you've spoken to every day of your life, and yet you still have so much to say to? What do you say to the person that knows you about as well as any person possibly could? What do you say in the face of goodbye?
Early this morning, I was sitting at breakfast with mom and Maria, just going through the usual morning routine. You were upstairs, still fast asleep. I was chewing on my customary soggy Raisin Bran. Mom was thoughtfully sipping her coffee. Maria was grimacing at the label of her vitamin tablet packaging. We were talking about everything and nothing, and then suddenly we were talking about you. We were talking about the goodbyes you would have to say, and all the things you need to be thinking about right now.
It was mostly mom talking, rambling and sniffling just like she usually does when she talks about you and your future. And then, I said one simple thing that got me started as well.
"I wish I could take it away from her. Not the relationships she had, but the pain of when it all had to end."
And I started to cry. Because you know what? It really does make me sad. I was thinking about all the really difficult things you've had to go through these past few months. Goodbyes. Goodbyes. And even more goodbyes. It made me so sad to think that the only people who are really, truly constant in your life are dad, mom, Maria, and me. And in only a few weeks, you'll have to say goodbye to us, too.
I can't imagine how you must feel right now. I'm so scared for you, even though I know I don't need to be. I'm so afraid of that feeling you'll feel as you're on that one-way plane out of here, leaving behind the only life you've ever known and embarking on a journey to a life you still have no idea about. But most of all, I'm just really sad for you. I cry for you. There are times in my day when I think about you leaving, and I just need to cry for a bit -- not necessarily because I'm going to miss you, even though I definitely will. Mostly because I know that you're in one of those seasons that is full of tears and heartbreak.
But I'm also so excited for you. I'm excited for you, because I know that in the midst of all the sadness and goodbyes, there will be times when you will laugh uncontrollably until your stomach aches and you can't breathe. There will be moments when you stop what you're doing just because you want to soak up the joy of a moment of complete contentment. There will be times when you will sing, loudly and high-pitched, because you feel free and happy and comfortable with where you are and who you're with. There will be times when everything you've gone through before was worth it, because it brought you to one place of pure happiness. I'm excited for those things. Even after all the tears and goodbyes, there will still be moments where you will be happy. And I'm hopeful for those moments.
I feel all these things because I love you. Who ever said loving somebody was easy? It's painful. It consists of a lot of crying, a lot of sniffling, but also a whole lot of laughing.
I really am going to miss you. I'm going to miss your tall-person hugs that make me feel sort of small. I'm going to miss the way you join in a song I'm singing, about two octaves higher, all high-pitched and squealing. I'm going to miss having somebody in my room when I get home from school. I'm going to miss your random wife-training whims that make you clean the entire house in an afternoon. I'm going to miss the way you make the small good things in a day full of big bad things seem really important. I'm going to miss all of you, every last inch.
I'm probably going to look up at my wall of photos every once in a while and sigh sadly, and maybe cry for a bit. And you'll probably have similar moments in Switzerland or in college, when you just want to Skype your family at home even though it's 3am on our side of the world.
I love you so much. And even though it hurts sometimes, I'll never regret being your sister. I'll always be your sister. May we never do that awkward three-kiss thing. May we never shake hands. May we forever greet each other like we saw each other only yesterday, with huge smiles and nice tall-people hugs. I look forward to it.
Much love,
Your little sister, Sarah.
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