Happy birthday, sissy.

I was 14 months old when my sister arrived, so I can never remember life without her. I know we were stereotypical oldest & youngest siblings, and I know we fought something fierce growing up. I also know that when she moved out of the crib and we got matching twin beds, with white-painted head and footboards, we would often sleep together in one of them, curled up next to each other. I know that our voices meshed together so that unless she was singing harmony (I have poor ears for harmony) we sounded like one singer, from the church balcony or the high school gymnasium or the backseat of our green Chrysler.

She is the only person on earth who shares my father and mother with me, who knows what it was like when the terrible things happened, who remembers those odd holiday moments (driving home in a blizzard, the year we got a black and white TV of our very own) that are meaningless to everyone but me and her. She is the person genetically most like me in all the world. I can't believe how lucky I am.

Happy 35th, sissy. I love you.