There are many first memories I have with my sister. A majority of them are from when I was five years old or younger. They are snippets of experiences that, looking back, I now realize represent the foundation of our relationship. The times I'd fall asleep with her reading me books in our parents' bed. When we play hide and seek and she'd always let me find her first. How she would reassure me when I got scared.

In short, the overarching theme of our relationship then, and now, has been care. Leigh has always taken care of me, cared for me, in a sisterly-maternal way that is instinctual. It is a quality that makes her career as a childcare worker a natural fit. And made her a far better big sister than I am sure I ever deserved.

Leigh was four years old when I came along. Since my parents didn't have more children after me, I don't know what having a younger sibling is like. What did she think when I came onto the scene? To be honest I have never asked her that specific question. Maybe I should. I guess growing up I always assumed she was happy to have a baby sis. But my adult-self thinks that is probably not the case. I wouldn't blame her for feeling that way. Kids have so little control over their lives, and I'm sure my parents didn't consult her on their family planning desires. I was this new little creature that was now taking her mommy and daddy's attention away from her and onto me. It is a sibling story as common and old as time.

One aspect of our story, however, that is somewhat unique, is that I was born with major health problems. My various medical conditions meant I spent the first six months of life in and out of the hospital. Only to be followed by surgeries and procedures sometimes done out of state. So if having a healthy sibling come into your life is disrupting, it is safe to say that my arrival turned my sister's world upside down. And yet even from my earliest memories, I never remember her trying to hurt me, enact jealousy or revenge, or even overly coddle me with pity. She just simply loved and cared for me. It was all love.

What amazes me, in a good way, is that even with the story of our beginning, with all its "non-normal"ness, over the years, our sibling relationship unfolded quite normal. As we each grew into our own personalities and independence, we clashed as much as we hugged. I'd storm into her bedroom and invade her privacy even though she told me not to; she'd hide the TV remote so I couldn't change the channel; we'd fight over the radio station in the car; I'd call her a turd-face and she'd call me a spoiled brat. I think you get the idea.

But even through all those phases, there it was: the CARE. When we'd travel together without our parents, she'd carry my bags without being asked. When I'd ask her, "how do you know the plane isn't going to crash?" (because my phobia started at a young age) She'd simply reply, "because it won't." There was the time that I was being teased at a skating party and she confronted the bullies and told them to stop. And when I had my quarter-life crisis it was Leigh who helped me move back home and then stepped up to be my health caregiver for almost a year after that. I'm sure at times she wanted to strangle me with my oxygen tubing because I was being demanding about this task or that, but she never did. She never complained. She just did. She just cared. She was just the same loving big sister who played with me while I was laid up in a spica cast some 19 years prior.

It was easier to keep in touch when we lived in the same city. But now I have my life in the Bay Area and she has hers in the Pacific Northwest. I wish I could say I'm great about reaching out, even with our digitally-connected world, but the pace of my reality at home means I barely can keep up with myself. When we are able to visit though, or connect on special occasions like birthdays, or major life events, I'm reminded again of what I've always known to be true in my heart. She is a loving and caring big sister for whom I am so grateful to have in my life.