Sonder

When my baby sister pointed to the tree line and told me that’s where she buries her horses when they die, all I could do was nod and try not to grip her waist too tightly. She didn’t slow the ATV, and soon we were at the edge of one of her ponds. She’s on 500 acres, and death is inevitable.

There’s a word I heard once for realizing that your siblings are their own distinct people, and I’ve found that it comes in waves. I watched her pull a 40-foot trailer off the side of the Texas freeway and calmly call her mechanic, then a roadside assistance company, then 2 more shops, and it was a tsunami.

My pigtailed little sister turned 3 last week, and this week she’s buying me dinner and caring for 40 horses, a goat, a dog, three cats, and me now, too.

A tidal wave comes again when she plays me her favorite song of all time, a bluegrass ballad by an artist I’ve never heard of. But we sing Taylor Swift on the drive home, too, just like we did when I was fifteen.

So I drink orange juice out of our grandma’s China and look out the window at my baby sister, who is harvesting tomatoes for lunch.

Her giggle sounds the same to me, no matter how old she gets. When her eyes fill with tears they turn a lighter blue. And when she encounters the kind of situation that would ruin your week, she pays the mechanic and then takes you out for Texas steaks. Death didn’t visit us, tonight, and that’s worth celebrating.