A sister is a gift, a joy, someone to share those girly things, or tomboy things, with for all times.

You spend those first two years playing with her, watching out for her, getting pissed off when the babysitter gets paid but you changed the poopy diaper. You don’t know any better. So she just points and grunts? How was I supposed to know that’s not normal.

And then the parents take her for therapy, and her speech improves, and maybe everything will be ok.

Except it’s not, and she’s still behind. You might not know if you saw her on the street or in the grocery store. She does the day to day stuff fine, as long as someone reminds here. You’ll notice she talks a bit funny, and think maybe she’s a little slow, but you’ll keep on going.

Back home to your sister, who you tell about your day and she laughs, or cries. Who you share your fears and hopes with, and she helps you through. Who stands beside you, now and always.

Not mine.