my sister

When I was a young teenager, my family spent Thanksgiving with our family in Utah. All the women were helping out in the kitchen, and our aunt Patricia looks over to Emily and me and asks, "So, are you two just best friends?"

We looked at each other, and without hesitation, together answered, "Yes!"

We are. We're best friends.

Her first year of college was my third, and with Emily around, I found my last two years of college even better than the first two. Lately I get emotional when I think about her and our relationship, because things won't be the same after the summer. They're not even the same now.

I graduated from school and am getting married soon. Then I'm moving to Portland, and I won't live close enough to Emily to stop by after work or go grab a Big Gulp or watch MK&A or just hang out because I love to be with her. Even now she's living at home for the summer and I'm here still in Utah. I miss her. And I think I'll be missing her for a long time.

There's so much I want to say but don't know how to say it articulately or cohesively. She's helped teach me that being myself is okay—more than okay—and liking something or doing something just because I like it is a good enough reason. She's there to boost my confidence and comfort me when life gets hard. She will call me out on too much of a sad- or bad-itude and challenge me to become something better than what I am. When I'm with her I'm completely comfortable with who I am; I don't feel the need to be anyone else.

She's my favorite. I love her. I'm the person I am today, in large part,  because Emily is my sister.

My relationship with Emily is what sisterhood is all about.

Happy birthday, Em. I love you like crazy.