Today is my little sister’s birthday. I’ve written about her here. And here. Also here, and sort of here.

So anyone reading this has access to a lot of information about Liz and our relationship, and how I think she is exceptional. I don’t call my sister by her name a lot. It’s usually Leroy, a holdover from our childhood (Lee for short), and other times it’s Shishie, because that’s what Scarlett calls her. Even my nephew Jack, her own son, refers to her occasionally as Shishie. But the best development by far is that her husband now sometimes calls her Leroy. This is how you know that big sisters are in charge of everything.

Since it is Liz’s birthday, I’ll use her regular name for the rest of this post. Liz listens to me whine a lot. I don’t mean to, but sometimes when I’m around her, all of my frustration and anxiety come spilling out, interspersed with stories about bizarre things Scarlett has recently done, like spitting on the dog. I usually do all this while she’s helping me shower, because she’s trapped and she has to listen. Sometimes when I’m done whining, I ask my sister what’s going on in her life, because of course I do care.

My favorite mornings are when Liz brings over her homemade pumpkin muffins, and Liz, if you can’t tell that this is a hint then you’re not reading closely enough. Bring the pumpkin muffins. You can wait until tomorrow, though. Take the day off.

Liz is an excellent cook, and she and Rob often team up to make our Sunday family dinners together. When I could, I would make her birthday dinners: complicated salads, elaborate sauces, chocolate things. Wine.

I’d like to cook for my sister again, but maybe more than that, I want to take a walk with her, one where we are both on our feet. When she first moved to San Francisco, I was six months pregnant, but we hiked all the time. On Valentine’s Day 2010, about a month before Scarlett was born, we took a long hike in the North Bay, past cascading waterfalls, and posed for a picture on the side of the trail, surrounded by towering redwoods. I was huge, and my slim, sneaky sister sucked in her stomach, making it look even more like a wild animal was about to burst out of mine at any moment. Still, I felt strong that day. I wish to feel strong like that again, to lean my back against Liz’s and then walk with our kids and our husbands along a path we’ve never traveled before.

We are certainly on an unfamiliar path now, all of us doing our best to adapt. Rob bears the brunt of the responsibility, living and sleeping with me as he does. But just as it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to care for someone with ALS. That means Liz’s job will only get harder as my disease continues to progress. I hate that this is true. I want to be equal parents with Rob, helping with meals, with bedtime, with the morning routine, and I want to be on equal footing with my sister, so that she can depend on me, too. So that I might cook a meal that would make her life easier, or babysit her son so that she can have a date night. She deserves a big sister who can do those things.

Instead I offer her my words. My thanks, my love, a bouquet of flowers that should arrive soon. I love you Lizzie, Leroy, Shishie, in all the roles you play for this family. I hope you have the very best day.

Share this post on your social platform