T And Me
My sister’s name is Tina.
Can I remember a time without her? Well, she arrived right before my second birthday. So, literally no memories of a world that doesn’t include her in it. She later became the middle child. And you’d need a supercomputer to calculate the number of Jan Brady memes we’ve sent her through the years. We all just call her “T.” It’s quick. Easy. And fits her perfectly. She’s not even high-maintenance enough to trouble us with a second letter in her nickname.
Even as a baby, T never made waves. While I was breaking out of my crib to escape into the night…not a peep. Wouldn’t even cry if she was hungry. Maybe the only infant in history who didn’t utter a sound when her diaper needed to be changed. All good, guys. This’ll get sorted out. No need to cause a ruckus.
And on we went…
Growing a bit older. I decided to start my own private rock band. Well, technically, I just banged on pots and pans all day. Had to express all the loudness I felt inside. T just sat there calmly. Smiling and clapping.
Supportive from the start.
During our school years, I picked up some new hobbies. Like getting kicked out of class. Visiting after-school detention. Lighting stuff on fire. My sister, on the other hand? She loved reading books. The girl actually had a stationery collection. I’m talking about literally collecting pens and paper. Through all of my rebellion, she stayed solid as a rock. Always there for whatever her family needed.
Whatever I needed.
Some things never really change. I’ve spent most of this life in my head. Getting lost in the storm of my mind. Still trying to express all the loudness I feel inside. And, during all of it, T just kept helping. She remained so consistent…and so dependable…that I never thought much about it. Never wondered whether she’d be there.
She always was.
I think even her dog takes it for granted. You can see the daily sense of calm. Even within a tiny canine brain, there’s just no question marks. As a dog mom, friend, employee, boss, sister, or child…I have never seen T drop the ball. She’s the definition of showing up for others. My family jokingly calls her, “the eldest son.” And I can’t help but laugh. She’s just better at the job than I am. Jumping on a call…or a plane…at the drop of a hat. Generous with money, gifts, and time. I’ve known this beautiful soul since the first day of her life. And I have yet to see her let anyone down.
And on we went…
This world feels more solid when someone is your rock.
Then came last week…
Out of the blue, T found out she has breast cancer.
Even as I type those words, they don’t look real.
Don’t feel real.
And, yet, here we are.
She took a nap yesterday. Had a vivid dream. So intense that she woke up confused. For a minute, she thought this diagnosis was only part of the dream. What a huge relief. And then the truck hit her again. It’s real. Her very sudden truth.
I’ve spent my life trying to express all these loud feelings. But still managed to do such a poor job of it. I keep thinking back to when we were kids. T asked me one day:
“Do you think we would’ve been friends if we weren’t related?”
I said, “Probably not.”
And I have a hard time dealing with that one. Grasping how I could’ve said such a thing. Sure, I was probably 12 years old at the time. The idea of saying anything gushy to my little sister would’ve felt like drinking poison. But I know it hurt her feelings.
Why couldn’t I just say it?
Why couldn’t I just tell T she was amazing?
That our dad was on guard with everyone in the world but her. Because she was so sweet…and so kind…that even he could take his armor down.
That I know there isn’t a mean bone in her body.
That people are drawn to her. Even now in this famously distant city. She made friends with all her neighbors. Made them feel like part of a community. Tied them together like she did with our family.
I want to tell her that she was so much more than just the plain one.
The introvert.
The Jan Brady.
I want to tell her that I know she isn’t perfect.
That, like so many of us, she’s a good person with a big heart and damaged self-esteem.
That, fine, she annoys the hell out of me sometimes.
But that she was never just…there.
That I think she was actually wrong about me being the star of the family.
That it was her all along.
I want to tell her that I see her.
That I’ve noticed.
That I hope she can learn from this. How her life is precious.
That she has to show up for herself too.
That there’s more to all this than just a sense of duty.
That her life’s mission should be to find what makes her feel alive.
And to fight for that. With everything she’s got.
I want her to know that we would’ve been friends.
And that it would have been my honor.
To know someone as special as her.
Mostly, I just want my sister to be ok…
Maybe one day I’ll tell her.
