so were a lot of other babies.
But I only remember one of them
‘cause my parents brought it back to our house.
It’s a good thing, too, because
you make me laugh harder than most people can laugh,
and laughing is a life-lengthener. So, thanks.
I owe most of my life to you.
You’re not just hilarious, though.
You’re good at lots of stuff.
Like writing (even though you don’t think so),
and playing soccer.
I love that you’re so sentimental.
You kept a bunch of acorns from our old house.
And you still have your baby teeth
(but not in your mouth.)
You kept the last grass Cally ever laid on, too.
I watched you watch her die and you cried
so I cried- just like I did when you told me
about Opa sleeping peacefully because God is awake.
As your older sister, I have a responsibility
to teach you how to do things.
I taught you how to shave your legs.
But you taught me how to use a tampon.
I suppose I have to teach you not to do things, too.
Like smoke. I’m glad that made you angry.
Thank you for caring enough to write
me and Kai those notes.
I’m watching you get older through pictures.
You’re beautiful and I’m missing it.
Did you get your eyebrows done recently?
Hahahahaha! Giggs.
I hope you never stop living a life worth writing about
or forget that better things are coming.
Thanks for standing in the lake with me that day
and for holding my hand under the water.
I’d say you have a heart of gold,
but that’s pretty overused so I’ll say
you have a heart of some other precious metal instead.
I’ll let you know when I think of one that’s good enough.
