The words that I share today are lovingly dedicated to my youngest sister, Emily.
(She also answers to Emmie, Emmie-Pop, Emmawee, Mommy and Memmy.)
And here’s the story.
When I was eight years old, a lovable little bundle came into our lives that my mom brought home from the hospital in an oversized red stocking. She was born right before Christmas and her name was Emily Ann. She was pretty much the neatest thing I had ever set eyes on, and I decided right away that I would take this little person under my care.
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| Yours truly (Dorothy Hamill haircut and all) and her cute-as-a-button little sister, Emily. |
My mom may have been worried about having a fourth child, but I was perfectly happy to assume all maternal duties from the get-go. I did many of the bottle feedings, changed the diapers, rocked her to sleep, carried her around like precious cargo and made sure she never cried a peep. Or at least not much more than a peep. In no time at all she became quite spoiled rotten. I would hurry off the school bus each afternoon consumed with thoughts of playing baby, while lip synching to Madonna with my two best friends, Kim and Jessica, ran a distant second. I was also very protective of the youngest and bossed my middle sisters around to the nth degree any time they were around Emily.
The years passed by, and she was the one sister I never fought with. Never argued with over toys, books, jewelry or clothes. We were too far apart to be interested in the same things at the same time. For a few years we shared a room, and I assume all responsibility for transforming her into somewhat of a neat freak. When I moved out of the house during my first year of college, she was only in the fifth grade.
The next several years went by in a flash – college, studying, dating, Greek parties, work, graduating, getting engaged, planning a wedding, getting married, going to everyone else’s weddings, starting a career, buying a first home. During all of this, while my life was spinning wildly to arrive at a destination, Emily went and grew up on me. Somehow I missed a significant segment of her growth, right between middle school and adulthood. Not because I was disinterested or indifferent, just simply because our lives were individually transforming us in very different circles that only semi-overlapped. So you can see how it was hard for me to accept that at some point she became a grown-up.
I was unaware until a few years later that after all of those years of me caring for her, the big sister protecting the smaller, that the tables would turn significantly. The hourglass would take another turn, and the protected would become the protector – not of me, but of my children.
You see, Emily has been the weekly caretaker of my boys for several years now. It started with G-man, and then B-man, and now she is down to just Wee-man. The older two are in school and growing up quite quickly – too quickly, really, and Wee-man will be joining them later this summer when he starts at the same preschool B-man attends. In just one week from now, Emily will take on two newborns – our niece Miss C and a friend’s baby boy – and a final paragraph will be written in a long chapter of the Three Small Men.
We both knew this day would come, but that won’t make it any easier. We are saying goodbye to a ritual, a slice of time, a piece of the boys’ childhood and even a stage of our own lives. It is hard in some ways for me to accept that my boys are moving on, growing up and becoming more independent. I know it will be just as difficult for Emily to accept that, besides some babysitting here and there, the days of one of my boys sleeping soundly in her bedroom, leaving small handprints on her glass door or snuggling with her on the couch at eight o’clock in the morning have almost come to a close. What will make this transition easier is the presence of her own son, as well as other precious little ones who will fill the gap and offer their love, adoration and another half-decade worth of memories.
Looking back, I cannot imagine a better person to help raise my baby boys into the little men they are becoming. I never worried for their safety. Never lost sleep over what their day was like while I was at work. Never feared that they would suffer any lack of love, compassion or attention. They had all of those things and more. They had an aunt who loved them as her own, and for that there is no price tag and no comparison. My sister adored them, coached them, encouraged them and protected them in the hours I was separated from them. I owe her more than I could ever express in these mere written paragraphs.
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| All of Emily's men. |
Emily – you are a beautiful old soul, a born nurturer and a blessing to our family. Thank you for loving my boys all these years with an open heart and open arms. You are an amazing person, and we love you.
