To think you almost didn't make it. You were born four weeks early. The doctor came in the room and told Mama that if you lived twenty-four hours you would probably live. No one had told her. She had been asking to see her baby but there was always an excuse. Until the pediatrician came in. You had hyaline membrane disease. This was the beginning of your life, the story of your little body struggling for every breath.
I came along first. Twenty-two months before you. I figure your struggle was where you get your tough strength. We were camping with our family in Colorado. I was six and you were four. We were visiting an ancient volcano. You said you weren't afraid of volcanoes. It wouldn't hurt you if you didn't hurt it. And you weren't afraid of bears.
I don't think you have ever been afraid of anything. Not the dark. I remember waking my little sister up in the middle of the night to walk me down the long dark hall to the bathroom because we didn't need night lights.
I may have come first but sometimes it's like you should have been first.
Except you definitely are my baby sister.
We travelled all over the country camping. When we visited the Grand Canyon we hiked down the Angel Trail, a narrow path shared with burros taking adventuring souls down into the canyon. When we had ventured far enough, we turned around. Although she wanted a helicopter to get her out, Mama stills says you pulled her back up the trail.
You always wanted to dance. In elementary school, you twirled on stage in your red and white tutu in a school play. In high school, you were the Dancing Queen, doing the hustle in your satin turquoise jeans or spinning in your pink Quiana dress on the outreaching arm of your favorite partner. You even won a Disco contest!
At the end of your junior year, our family moved to another city for a new job opportunity for Daddy. Not a great opportunity for you. But you bravely packed your bags, said goodbye to your friends, the drill team and Student Council, determined to make a new name for yourself in the new place. People questioned the move and offered to let you live with them for your senior year. But our family doesn't separate. It was rough but you were stronger.
You completed the University as Outstanding Student in your field of study and went to work for the largest bank in the state. As the administrative assistant to the Vice President. As you said one time, "I know how much money is in all of these bank accounts but I'll never tell. Just knowing is enough." You got that job with a resume in hand, knocking on the door.
You got married and had two children. After each child, you went back to work when they were six weeks old, the norm at the time. There was no such thing as a long maternity leave or paternity leave. You worked all day and at night came home to a needy house. Need to feed the family, need to wash the clothes. Need to vacuum. I have always admired your ability for hard work. You jump in and get the job done. Pitch and toss. Hilary will clear it out.
Two years later, a new move to another state and a new church for music ministry. After waiting over a week for their belongings, she called the van line over and over, only to find the van had been moved to an out of the way corner in Pensacola. She is not afraid to take the bull by the horns. One afternoon, she calls me from her kitchen and says "I'm standing at the kitchen sink. Can you hear the hurricane?" She goes to work for a bank in the new town and is voted Woman of the Year by the local women's club for her service to the community.
Several years later, your family moves to another state and city. Whew. You are still there. But really, who has worked at a funeral home and cemetery. Brave. During that time, you decide to return to the university. While managing your funeral home job, with children in elementary and middle school and the demands of being a minister's wife, you get a Master's Degree in Education.
Mama Meal of Hamburger Patty, mashed potatoes and canned green beans will be served just a few times as you meet your new responsibility as a 2nd grade, kindergarten and pre-K teacher. Somehow you make time to teach a middle school Sunday School Class. You attend prayer groups in your spare time.
You come home one night and your home has been ransacked. You pick everything up and buy a new door lock. Your sister is quaking in her shoes just thinking about it.
Mama lives eight hours away and in new retirement, you are famous for calling in the morning and twenty minutes later calling back and saying "I'm on the road to Little Rock." All to come see Mama and me. You can throw a bag together slap dap unlike your sister who has to have every outfit written on a list and checked off before closing a suitcase. You stop halfway through your trip at an outlet mall for a little shopping and a good walk around.
A rare picture of Daddy camping because he was usually taking the pictures. Cooking on a grill, no Coleman Stove in sight. Must be first trip! Daddy has been gone thirteen years. But he was a wonderful father to his two girls. He loved to kick his house shoes down the hall and make us squeal with laughter. He worked hard for his family to always provide more than we needed. He loved to take us camping. We would eventually modernize with lanterns and stoves. He took us on a wonderful trip to NYC where the waitress knew his name and our names! He worked during the day and put us in death defying taxis at night, riding to Mama Leone's and The King and I.
I was recently asked who is my hero. I immediately thought of you with your strength and bravery for what the situation requires. I always want you on my side.
You have an open wide heart of giving to many people. You are famous for your pumpkin bread, chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles - just checking on you.
You sit in a room full of children and try to give each one the love in your heart. Each child - the ones who are lovely and the ones who can't help that their lives have been hard so far. You are their chance.
You are the chance for so many people. The chance to see God in your eyes, your song, your hands, your concern, your laughter. I can only imagine the laughter as you rode a bicycle in Paris in the middle of the road. Unforgettable. Brave!
You are the one to call when a friend is dying. You bravely stand by and share loving words and scripture, sing him a song. This man just hours from heaven. Not even your family but a sweet friend.
I have never written about my sister, Hilary. She is the one L. The LL is the First Lady when my sister and her family spend the night at the White House.
I can write about her because she is such an encourager. I am the writer just wanting to share the strength and bravery she brings to my life. She is still my baby sister. And I suppose if we were to sit down with paper and crayons she would still copy my drawing. I can only hope to copy her zest for living.
She makes life fun!
