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How My Sister Became My Closest Companion
by Linda Thompson
Sep. 28, 2015
“It’s a girl!”
My grandmother softly shook me awake, her voice a hushed whisper revealing the news I had been eagerly anticipating. Though it was the middle of the night, I lay there wide awake, my heart racing with excitement.
At school, I couldn’t contain my joy and announced to my first-grade classmates, “I have a baby sister!” During our hospital visit, my dad lifted me so I could peek through the nursery window. I pressed my forehead against the chilly glass, gazing down at her while my dad’s hands held me steady. She was named Sophia, and she was a little bundle of joy. We affectionately called her Sophie.
My older brother, always the competitive one, had hoped for a brother. For the first time, I felt victorious. I was thrilled and couldn’t believe my good fortune. Little did I know, it would take years before I felt that way again.
As a toddler, she would often knock on my door, pleading to play with me. I would slam the door shut in her face. By the time she started first grade, I found myself envious of her growing popularity. On weekends, she would often be out with friends while my brother and I piled into the car with our parents, no matter whether we were headed to an antique shop or an estate sale. I was content. The original family unit—just the four of us—felt perfect.
I remember overhearing my mom chatting with her friends in middle school. When the conversation turned to parenting, one friend remarked on how helpful I must be and how the six-year age gap eliminated any rivalry between my sister and me. My mom didn’t correct her, but I knew I was neither helpful nor kind. I treated the little sister I had longed for with disdain.
My mom suggested that my resentment stemmed from jealousy, explaining it was natural to project my frustrations onto the sister who had taken my place as the baby of the family. I dismissed her theory as nonsense, insisting that I disliked my sister simply because she was annoying. She was always in my space. After school, she wanted to watch Clarissa Explains It All and Hey, Dude, while I preferred Oprah. I needed the computer for homework, but she wanted to play another round of Where In the World Is Carmen Sandiego? I wished she would just go away.
Instead, I left for college. That’s when everything began to change. Living apart meant we no longer had to compete for limited resources—whether it was bathroom privacy, the cordless phone, or the last cookie. With this newfound distance, I started to see that maybe my mom had a point.
About a month into my freshman year, Sophie called me in tears, convinced our parents were on the verge of divorce. I tried to comfort her, explaining that they’d always had their disagreements. As she sobbed, I yearned to hug her. In that moment, Sophie transformed from my rival to my closest confidante, someone who truly understood me.
When I was a senior in college, she came to visit. At 15, she borrowed my clothes and joined me at a party where we indulged in Cape Cods and whiskey sours. Later, we collapsed on my futon, and I made her promise to keep our weekend escapades a secret from our parents.
Before I headed off to graduate school, my mom insisted I sort through my old room. Among the relics of my childhood—Trapper Keepers, cassette tapes, and yearbooks—I found a card I had made for Sophie when she was a baby suffering from a high fever. With a magic marker, I had drawn a stick figure of a woman with a wild mass of hair holding an oblong shape, and beside her, a smaller figure with pigtails. Above the drawing, I’d written:
I will help you. Will you help me? I will help you.
Now, as an adult, I call Sophie for everything and nothing at all. From asking if quinoa can be frozen to seeking advice on how to survive family gatherings, she’s always there. Just as I promised long ago, she helps me, regardless of the miles between us.
After the birth of my second child, when I felt overwhelmed by the demands of my new life, Sophie flew out on short notice. Amid sleep deprivation, breastfeeding struggles, and the exhaustion of caring for two children, I felt lost. But her presence reassured me that things were, indeed, getting better.
Sophie understands me like no one else. We share the same childhood, upbringing, and quirks. Our unique bond, shaped by shared experiences and familial ties, is unlike any other. The six-year-old version of me had no idea that the baby sister I wished for so fervently would end up being my best friend.
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Summary:
The journey from sibling rivalry to deep friendship is beautifully chronicled in this heartfelt narrative. From a young girl excited about her baby sister to the realization of their emotional bond during college years, the story illustrates how time and distance can transform relationships. Today, they share a unique understanding and support each other through the ups and downs of life, proving that sisterhood can evolve into a profound friendship.