Letting Go, Just a Little

My little sister is engaged.

O. proposed just days after I left for Rwanda this summer, and so H. spent 3 weeks holding the news in, wanting to tell me first, in person, when I got back. But I knew. I knew the moment she told me over the phone that she'd need 30 minutes alone with me upon my arrival back in NYC, en route to Maui. She came straight from work to where I was staying, and I met her at the lobby elevator. As we rode up all of 3 stories, I bubbled over with excitement insisting she tell me her news. H. looked at me and said, "Really? Really you want me to tell you here? In the elevator? When I'm hot and sweaty? And carrying groceries?" Apparently, she had envisioned the sharing of news somewhat differently. But she quickly acquiesced, gleefully exploding with, "I'm engaged!" and we jumped up and down in the elevator in celebration. Honestly, in the elevator, sweaty, carrying groceries and me, fully jet-lagged, was perfect.

I have a memory of being four or five. I am running as fast as my little legs will carry me down our grassy, sloping lawn, pushing (well, charging with) my little sister in her carriage. That is all I remember, other than the fact that I was trying to get rid of her. I'm not sure what my plan was, or who saved her, but I was not too happy to be sharing my mother's attention. A year or so later, I was sitting in our living room waiting for the school bus. Toddler H. waited beside me. It seemed the perfect time to coax her into pushing little pebbles from our indoor flower pots up her nose; they became lodged. I got on the school bus in a hurry.

Then the tides changed and she has been my comfort ever since. When I was in my early teens, my bedroom was in a part of the house that was separate from the rest. I'd wake in the middle of the night afraid of noises I was hearing, or thought I might hear, and tiptoed down to H.'s room with my comforter in hand. I would curl up on the floor beside her bed and be soothed back to sleep knowing that she was nearby. I only just discovered that H. also sometimes woke up scared, and would crawl into my parents' room to sleep on the floor next to them! So, most likely, I was sleeping next to an empty bed.

As adults, H and I often lived in different cities until one day, when I was thirty-two and she was twenty-eight, we found ourselves both single and living in New York City. And then, for three years, we lived together. We were attached at the hip. We went for morning runs in Central Park, met up with friends in the evenings for drinks, and ate tea and toast off trays while watching When Harry Met Sally for Thanksgiving. We even went away on vacations together. Don't be fooled; we had some incredible fights. Ooh, they were bad. Stand-on-opposite-sides-of-the-train-with-fume-coming-out-of-our-ears bad. Once, I was so angry, something popped in my neck. (H. saw it pop, at which point we collapsed on the floor laughing.)

But the rest was so much fun. When I moved to Maui, we had our last supper at a favorite Indian restaurant and sobbed uncontrollably into our chicken masalas.

And then H. met O. And now she's engaged.

I know I have to give up a bit of her since she has someone else now to consider for holidays and trips and Big Decisions - and she should consider him; I know that. Still, I'll say it: I'm not happy about giving up even a teensy bit. But my little sister is marrying a good man who loves her. She arrives home most nights to a home-cooked meal and a wine bottle just uncorked. And his vocabulary makes her swoon.

So I'll give up that little bit, because she deserves him. I also know that O. knows that H. is my Most Important Person. And he's probably giving up a little bit of her for me, too.