And until I moved last month, the card stayed tucked in one of the corners of the mirror that hung over my bureau, serving as an encouragement as well as a reminder to disregard the bullshit that I allow to pervade my life and instead and focus on the real, substantive stuff.
But this post isn't really about me. It's about my sister. Because she's the one who sent the card.
This is what my sister knows:
1). I will not call her if I am experiencing any sort of difficulty in my personal life.
2). I will not answer her calls if I am experiencing any sort of difficulty in my personal life.
3). I will respond to words and anything that is tactile.
4). I will have a break-down, Oprah-ugly, cathartic cry when I read anything she sends me.
5). I will know that her sending me a card is her way of saying, "I love you, and I'm thinking about you, and I'm preserving your pride even though we are sisters and that's ridiculous, and I know you're a hoarder of everything sentimental, so you'll display it prominently, and it will feel like I'm here with you every day, so you're not alone anymore."
Here's what I know:
1). It doesn't matter the man. Or how big his love is for me. Or how big my love is for him.
2). My answer will always be: "If both of you are drowning, I will choose to save my sister."
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