The Plight of Little Sisters

Last week, one of the student discussion topics was about taking things or people for granted. Someone shared her experience about her big sister leaving for college. She told us that she didn't realize how much she would miss her sister until she saw her walk into the dorm; at that moment, she finally understood that her sister would not be coming home with them. This was not a vacation. She said that all she could think about was the months of emptiness ahead, and she was surprised to discover how mad she was at the whole situation. I was listening to her talk, and you know what I realized? Being a little sister must suck.

You never get to leave first.

I remember the day I went to college. My family had just spent a week camping, purportedly to lessen the stress of saying goodbye for a whole month. I was so excited I could barely breathe; I immediately hooked up with the friends I'd met during orientation. We had a big family lunch in the dining hall, but I sat with my friends. I don't even know if I looked up when my family left.

I can't imagine what that must have felt like for Rider. I'm sure it hurt my parents and my brother too, but they were older than nine. And Rider, as you've no doubt realized, is the light of my life. We have a very close relationship, and there's nothing creepy about it. It's just the way it is. It's been like that ever since Rider was born. My friends used to ask me if I'd leave Rider at home once in a while, because I included her in nearly everything I did. I know that's weird, and I don't much care. We're each other's soul.

So, how does it feel to watch your soul walk away from you, looking for all appearances like it's thrilled to be free?

I called home. I came home a lot. But every time I came home, I was different. I changed so much in college that every visit home required negotiation. I struggled to maintain my place in the family, even as I was rejecting it. Life went on without me. Rider went on without me. Just as it should be.

Years later, at my wedding, Rider and I had another "moment." Rider requested that the DJ play "Our House," by Crosby, et al. That song was special to the two of us, because we really did have two cats (often in the yard), and life used to be hard (but having a sister made it easier). When I heard it, I ran over and hugged her, and then I let go. She had tears in her eyes. I laughed at her a little; after all, it wasn't like I was leaving her. I was just married; no big, right?

"Shut up," she said. "You don't know what this feels like; it's never happened to you. This is something I got to feel first." I shut up. Rider is the only one who can render me speechless.

She was right. Bigs know about leaving; they don't know about being left. They move forward, and littles stay behind. Littles watch their older siblings grow up, and because they're always watching, they don't notice that they're growing up too. Yes, littles get the benefit of their parents' experiences; yes, littles are often the pets of their families. But littles get left behind.

Maybe that's why Rider pushed herself to go farther, to move faster, to do more. All I know is, when I left her at Christmas, just days before she deployed to Iraq, I got a little taste of loss and fear -- just a little. I didn't like it. I left, but she was Leaving -- with no guarantees as to when (if) she was coming home, or who she would be once she got here. This feeling, this sensation of being ripped apart, of hollowness, of aching love -- well, I didn't much care for it, to be honest. And it will come again, because that's what families do as they age. They leave, then come together, and leave again, and that's the Way of it.

So as I talked to Rider this morning, and we discussed her future plans, I unfairly demanded that she not move around so much. "You're not reupping," I told her. "You're getting out, and then you're coming home." This was an order, albeit a joking one. Because I'm well aware that my soul has sneakers, too -- I have no idea where we will live once we're through with grad school (no, Cindy -- NOT Ellenburg). I want my little sister here with me, until I'm ready to leave her again. Even I know how unfair that sounds, but I can't help it. As I finish this blog entry, I realize that being a big has such broad benefits compared to the other birth placements. I leave; I come back; I expect all to remain exactly as it was when I left. Meanwhile, Rider presses her nose against the window and waits for my return, and finally moves on. Is it fair for me to ask her to reorder her life for my sole benefit?

Damn right it is.