Last week, my youngest sister approached me with some disturbing news.
She had just plunged her hand into a toilet bowl.
Prior to doing so, she glanced at the toilet and saw something sparkling in the water. Knowing what had happened to me earlier this year, and you can read about it here, she did not hesitate. She reached for the sparkle, and pulled out… a silver earring. Her own, in fact.
But she thought that my wedding ring had slipped off my finger, and she had attempted to recover it. The toilet had recently been flushed (but still).
That, dear readers, is what it means to be a good sister.
My youngest sister deserves a celebration. She is kind, trustworthy and funny. She is smart and resilient. And she always answers the phone when I call (which is often). I have essentially nothing for which to forgive her, and I have nothing but admiration for who she is and who she will become.
Not long ago, we were talking about something/someone/some issue. And she remarked, “well, I think that has more to do with someone in your generation“.
Um. My generation?
We are approximately five years apart in age. I think we might be considered to be in the same generation.
That aside, I’d like to put this forward. For the record (is there an official blogging record?):
My youngest sister is Beautiful. Engaging. Compassionate. Thoughtful. Silly and Smart.
And let’s not forget the Toilet Bowl Incident.
Someday, I’ll record our conversations and keep them hidden (because our dialogue is silly, special and soul-bearing).
I don’t know what I’d do without her. Love you, B.
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