Hey Jesster Messter,

You're 17 now. One more year, and you're an adult. Wait, I didn't just say that. That's crazy-talk. Because who are we kidding, you'll never be an adult. But you'll always be my little sister.

Did you know that I never wanted you to go back to the hospital? That's one thing going for me, right? From the moment I saw your pudgy little face when you came home from the hospital when I was three, I loved you, little Jessica Lynn.

Growing up, we had our share of troubles. You got on my nerves, and I got on yours. You were an annoying little thing. But you know, as I look back, you weren't as annoying as I always thought. It's funny how moving away from you has given me a new perspective. I always knew I'd miss you, but I wasn't prepared for how much. Honestly, though, I'm not sure you can ever be prepared for suddenly living apart from the girl you've spent practically every day with for the last 16 years of your life. As I look back on those years, there are a lot of things I wish I'd treasured more.

You love to sing. That's no secret. Top of your lungs, full abandon, wake the neighbors, I-don't-care-that-I've-been-singing-this-song-for-three-days-straight, Broadway-style singing. Always have, and I imagine you always will. I've often thought how your future husband and kids have a treat in store for them. I'm pretty sure you were singing before you were speaking in full sentences. Some of my now fondest memories are of the times when, as the sun was rising and I lay blissfully asleep in my bed, six-year-old you would throw open my door, belting out your good morning to me in the form of whatever song you felt like singing that day. In my mind, you're always wearing that orange dress you loved so much. I was bothered by this wake-up call then, and wondered why on earth you thought someone would want to wake up that way, but I can't help but smile when I think about it now. Your little-girl voice, with its lisp and occasional stutter, would be much more welcome than the alarm I have set for each morning now. Nothing changed as you got older. If anything, your love for song grew stronger. Your voice developed beautifully, and while you did and still do love to trill in strange and often obnoxious voices, your natural voice has always been clear and powerful. Everyone who heard you, during the times you were actually singing to please and not annoy, agreed you were blessed with immense talent. I just wondered why you had to use this talent to follow me around and sing as loud as you could all day long. I'm sure you could tell of over a hundred times when I told you to "just stop singing for once." You never listened, and I'm glad you didn't. Your voice is beautiful, just like you, and I am so glad that you so wonderfully use the talents God has given you. I wish I had taken more time to enjoy the joy that you find in lifting your voice. Don't ever stop singing, okay? No matter how many people tell you to be quiet. I'm sorry that I was one of them. Sometimes, especially when the first semester started out, I find myself listening out of habit when I first wake up for your resounding melody. It never comes, and I find that my dorm is awfully dispirited without your song. You can come over and burst into "Defying Gravity" anytime you want. In fact, please do.

There's no such thing as an awkward silence with you. Mainly because there's no silence at all. You never run out of ideas, thoughts, concepts, opinions, schemes, or passionate two cents. And it seems that you never pause in between letting them all out, either. Not to mention, you have no volume control. Oh, all the times mom or dad had to gently remind you that we actually lived in the same house as you, and could hear you just fine when you spoke at a normal decibel level. I never had much patience for this, for how much you loved to talk. You always wanted to come in my room and sit on my bed and spend hours talking about anything and everything. I just wanted to read my books, in peace. We've probably both lost count of how many times I told you to leave my room. But I can't tell you how much I wish I had it to do over. Now, you never come into my room to sit on my bed and talk, because we live 88 miles apart. And I feel that distance every day. But if you came into my room now to talk in a too-loud, too-fast voice about everything rushing through your mind at a 100 miles per hour, or to just sit and do nothing, I wouldn't consider turning you away for a second. You are always welcome, and my living space does not feel quite like a home without you.

College comes with a lot of hard things. It's one of the reasons I hate that you're growing up so dang fast. But I think missing my little sister is one of the hardest. Because now who am I supposed to have dramatic duets with? Who will be the Glinda to my Elphaba? The Shang to my Mulan? The Anna to my Elsa? Who do I watch Ultimate Spider-Man with? No one else is going to love Nova with me as much as you do. Having someone listen intently while I talk about boys is great and all, but who else is going to roll their eyes and tell me that I'm being ridiculous in the way that lets me know that they still care? All those times that you told me you didn't want to hear about it somehow actually made me want to talk with you about it more. Who now do I play LEGO Harry Potter with and have collect my body money? Is there anyone else who's going to talk in a scarily-accurate Batman voice for a whole conversation? Who will be my little Hufflepuff?

There's no one like a sister, and there's definitely no one like you, my Jess. I used to think that might be a good thing, but now I say this to everyone reading: if you knew her, you'd want one of her too. Being away from you never gets any easier.

I miss you, sweet girl. And I love you. I'm sorry that I wasn't the best older sister while I was at home, but can we make up for lost time? I love it when you come to my dorm to stay the weekend. Having you sleep in my room reminds me of all the times when you were little and you'd beg to sleep in my bed, and we'd stay up half the night talking, shushing each other lest mom or dad hear us and separate us so that we actually got sleep. I love your quirkiness, and your silly voices, and all the crazy things you say.

I never did show you how much I loved you enough when I was home, and facing that now is hard. As you celebrate your 17th birthday, I'm sitting here in Jackson, wishing so much that I was home and giving you a tight hug. But as I write this, you're in my room, telling me to come outside for "bonfire time," a tradition at our grandparents'. When I finish this, I'll go outside and join you and roast marshmallows and play the alphabet game and tell ridiculous ghost stories, just as we've done for years. I'll focus on treasuring the time I have with you, because I don't get to see you as much as I'd like to.

But I promise that next time I do see you, I'll give you that hug. And I'll never let go. Because you, little sis, are my little monster. And gosh, I'd never change that for anything.

I hope your 17th year is amazing. You're the Dancing Queen. (so go get your Dancing King)

I love you always,

Becca-boo

Treasure you family, your loved ones. Treasure any and all time that you have with them. Because as I've found out, you don't always know what you have until it's gone. And while it may not be gone, it's far enough to give me a different viewpoint. I didn't realize how fast I was losing my time with my sister, with my family. Don't let time slip away from you. Don't focus on the little things that get on your nerves, because those things don't really matter. And they're not going to matter years from now. I once thought my little sister was so annoying, but now, all those things she did that I found so irritating—well, they're what I miss most.