If you're reading this, you're my sister (or some other related family member).
Taylor,
After a quick calculation, I realize that you are four years and thirteen days older than me, and some hours. You're also a July baby, and the reason I broke my arm when I fell off the bed you were jumping on.
You're the sister I scarcely got to live with, and to that I will always be thankful. We are so alike for only living together for four years- if that- and it is something I will attribute to the fact that we never did live together. We never had fights over that stupid sister stuff, but instead you taught me intelligent conversations and lent me books about Charles Mason.
You're the reason I have two beautiful nieces and a nephew. You're the reason my name is and will forever be Aunt Meatball, and I'm the reason they're Spaghetti and Submarine. You're the reason I get to be an Aunt, and you're the reason I was finally in my first- and probably last- wedding.
Our moms the reason we're sisters, and she's the reason we're so alike. She's the reason we both ended up working in restaurants, and she's the reason we bond over shitty customers. She's the reason we bond over life.
So Taylor, I want you to know that you're the best big sister a girl could ask for. Except me. I'm a great big sister... which leads to my letter for Iva.
Iva,
After a computer calculation, I discovered we are 19 years, 10 months, and 26 days apart in age. Or as I tell people- 20 years apart. I was born in 97, and you were born in 17. It's weird now, thinking about the age different between a 20 year old and a baby, but I wouldn't change it.
You're the Buttermilk to my Biscuit- the nicknames our dad gave us. You're the reason I cried when your mom told me she was pregnant. You're the reason that "sissy time" exists now every morning and afternoon, and you're the reason that I have to hide my mom necklace out of sight.
You're going to be a doctor, or a nurse, or something far more exciting than an English degree. You're going to play soccer, or volleyball, or cheer, or dance, and your parents will let you try every single one because they know you deserve the chance. You'll play the guitar and the piano, and you'll probably sing better than me because I can't sing to save a life.
You'll celebrate your 21st birthday with your 40 year old sister in tow, because I'll never not be there for your birthday and just because I'm 40 doesn't mean I can't get drunk with you. You'll get to take care of dad when he's too old because I sure as hell can't, and you get to because you're the youngest.
You'll call me and come stay weekends at my house, because it's cool having an older sister.
Most importantly, you'll never stop calling me Buttermilk or Sissy.
