I flew away, one day, leaving you behind; you were not quite sixteen. There were ten years between us, and we shared a room for many of those years. And because of the age gap, you didn't get under my skin like the others...
I remember the day you were born, and the jaundice lights they put you under, and your pitiful newborn cries. I couldn't stand to hear them and ran out of the room. Silly girl.
Our oldest brother named you. He wanted you to have a strong name, like the woman who defended the Prophet in battle. And so it was. The little piece of flesh that came home with us from the hospital was called Nusaybah.
You were Mom's sixth, and you were our baby as much as hers. Our old albums are peppered with photos of us carrying you, and you screaming your head off.
One day, after she'd started you on solids, Mom asked me to put your baby food in a bowl of hot water, so it would be a suitable temperature. I was puzzled by the request, and when I asked for clarification, Mom told me to “Just do it!” I shrugged my shoulders, unscrewed the lid of the jar, and poured its contents into the bowl of hot water. I actually don't remember Mom's reaction when she saw the mess I'd made, but I never did shake the nickname I got as a result. This one incident offered my siblings a convenient way to belittle me for years: “Oh, be quiet, Baby-food-in-hot-water.”
I don't remember any major conflicts between us over the years, except that I'd get annoyed when you sat with my friends when they came to visit. I'd just want you to leave the room, and they'd say, “Let her stay! She's so cute!”
That and you banging on the door so we could let you in when my other sisters and I locked ourselves in the room to watch Pride and Prejudice or Anne of Green Gables. I admit that these were addictions.
Apparently I had a talent, back then, of making up songs on the spot to go along with Disney tunes. You were the main audience to my off-key craziness. And, God bless you, you thought I was funny!
That's why, when I got married and moved to a faraway land, the letter you left in my hand affected me so. I remember the day we parted, and the note that I opened once you were out of sight. “Don't forget me,” it ended, “I hate being forgotten.”
Oh, the waterworks! I bawled like a baby in front of my in-laws. I tried to hide my grief, but my mother-in-law caught me red-handed (or red-faced, rather) and asked me, a bit flabbergasted at my sobbing, what exactly I expected they would do to me! I couldn't help but laugh then.
Our lives had been intertwined in the intimate way of siblings who share a room – in each other's faces all the time, for better or for worse – and suddenly here we were, living on separate continents.
But, as is life's way, others stepped in where I once stood, and you continued to grow beautifully. You had other big sisters, after all, and many friends whose names I don't know.
We've flown back and forth to each other over the years, but for the most part, we occupy different spheres now. Sometimes I don't get your jokes when we're together, and I feel old!
I think a small part of me will always pine for the baby sister I left behind; I can't quite shake that title, though you're as far from that now as I am. Maybe it's because of those years I missed, when you were growing up.
Thankfully, though, as is the way with siblings (and close friends!), whenever we meet, we just pick up where we left off.
May we always be together in good, for eternity.
(March 2018)
I remember the day you were born, and the jaundice lights they put you under, and your pitiful newborn cries. I couldn't stand to hear them and ran out of the room. Silly girl.
Our oldest brother named you. He wanted you to have a strong name, like the woman who defended the Prophet in battle. And so it was. The little piece of flesh that came home with us from the hospital was called Nusaybah.
You were Mom's sixth, and you were our baby as much as hers. Our old albums are peppered with photos of us carrying you, and you screaming your head off.
One day, after she'd started you on solids, Mom asked me to put your baby food in a bowl of hot water, so it would be a suitable temperature. I was puzzled by the request, and when I asked for clarification, Mom told me to “Just do it!” I shrugged my shoulders, unscrewed the lid of the jar, and poured its contents into the bowl of hot water. I actually don't remember Mom's reaction when she saw the mess I'd made, but I never did shake the nickname I got as a result. This one incident offered my siblings a convenient way to belittle me for years: “Oh, be quiet, Baby-food-in-hot-water.”
I don't remember any major conflicts between us over the years, except that I'd get annoyed when you sat with my friends when they came to visit. I'd just want you to leave the room, and they'd say, “Let her stay! She's so cute!”
That and you banging on the door so we could let you in when my other sisters and I locked ourselves in the room to watch Pride and Prejudice or Anne of Green Gables. I admit that these were addictions.
Apparently I had a talent, back then, of making up songs on the spot to go along with Disney tunes. You were the main audience to my off-key craziness. And, God bless you, you thought I was funny!
That's why, when I got married and moved to a faraway land, the letter you left in my hand affected me so. I remember the day we parted, and the note that I opened once you were out of sight. “Don't forget me,” it ended, “I hate being forgotten.”
Oh, the waterworks! I bawled like a baby in front of my in-laws. I tried to hide my grief, but my mother-in-law caught me red-handed (or red-faced, rather) and asked me, a bit flabbergasted at my sobbing, what exactly I expected they would do to me! I couldn't help but laugh then.
Our lives had been intertwined in the intimate way of siblings who share a room – in each other's faces all the time, for better or for worse – and suddenly here we were, living on separate continents.
But, as is life's way, others stepped in where I once stood, and you continued to grow beautifully. You had other big sisters, after all, and many friends whose names I don't know.
We've flown back and forth to each other over the years, but for the most part, we occupy different spheres now. Sometimes I don't get your jokes when we're together, and I feel old!
I think a small part of me will always pine for the baby sister I left behind; I can't quite shake that title, though you're as far from that now as I am. Maybe it's because of those years I missed, when you were growing up.
Thankfully, though, as is the way with siblings (and close friends!), whenever we meet, we just pick up where we left off.
May we always be together in good, for eternity.
(March 2018)
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