My natural inclination is to remark on your miraculous arrival into this world. However, my mind keeps returning to a particular string of memories.
When I left for college, you were but a wee toddler. You adored me before I went to college and promptly forgot about me when I left. Yes, you heard me on the phone, but beyond that you only had words and small photographs to build up the evidence that I really existed.
Gradually, your little mind put the pieces together. You realized I was part of your family. You knew I was your sister. The tricky part, though, was figuring out who my mother was. My getting married and having a baby only confused you more. I would come home amidst enthusiastic greetings. After a day or so you would inevitably ask me where my mother was. I would explain and explain, yet the concept was too foreign for your young mind.
As of last Christmas, you no longer questioned my origins. You had grown up enough to realize we came from the same mother and father. You were the aunt, albeit a young one, of my two babies.
In a way, I have regressed to that toddler you were. I have only photos, videos, and webcam conversations to piece your character together. Your growth is muddled by my conviction that you are still my baby sister. Yes, you are the baby of the family, but you are no longer a baby. You are a little lady. The strong ruler of the family. A miniature Queen Elizabeth.
The hard part is, you are growing up without me. Yes, I see you here and there, but I can’t sit and read with you. I don’t hear your stories about Kindergarten. I watch you grow from photos. I guess I figured I would always be around to guide you.
Even though I’m not physically there, I am still your older sister. I am here to metaphorically beat up any person that wants to bully you. Because that’s what older siblings are for.
Happy birthday dear sister.