To You, From Me:

Sometimes I daydream about what life would be like if the cancer never came. It’s passing and I try not to get caught up in the ‘what-ifs’ of it all, but sometimes I really can’t help but wonder. We’re only three years apart, and you were supposed to be my best friend. We were supposed to go to school together, and play sports, and have inside jokes, and I was supposed to yell at you for always borrowing my clothes without asking. I would’ve helped you fill out your college applications, get ready for your first date, and helped you move into your dorm. But we never had the chance. It wasn’t in our cards, I guess.

I know your brain’s not the same from the chemo and the new cocktails of drugs they give you every month, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice the way your head turns when you see a bunch of kids laughing and running around near you. I’ve seen the way your face changes when they run right past us, or when there’s a baby nearby, wobbling its first few steps. Your eyes light up for a second, and then when they’re gone, I watch your face fall like someone blew out your birthday candles for you. Your legs don’t work like that anymore, and I can tell you know it. I’m sorry.

Most kids your age would be spending their sophomore year of college channeling their rebellious phase, but I imagine that you’d have been the most tame of them all. You were born rebellious, college would’ve just mellowed you out enough to channel your talent. I could see you with that same pixie haircut, but with bright pink streaks, and a nose piercing like Meera’s. You would’ve been the smartest out of all of us, like Dad, and gotten yourself into some Ivy League on the East Coast where you majored in Public Health but minored in Art to fuel the creative side of you that we all got from Mom. You would’ve always had a sticker-covered laptop in one hand, and a can of spray paint in the other— your balance of saving the world with style. I think about these things when I’m in the toddler toy isle of Target, picking out a sippy cup and sensory toy for you to practice holding when I get home. 

I’m sorry I was so jealous of you and Shivani when we were kids. Looking back on it now, I realize how selfish I was for being mad that you two got the attention. You couldn’t help that you had cancer, and lol, Shivani couldn’t help that she was born. But I was still pissed about it. I wanted to babied in the same way you two were, and I wanted adults to fawn over me all the time and give me toys and take me places the way they did with both of you. I was such a bitch because of it too, I remember stealing your Elmo toys at the doctors office, sitting in your wheelchair because I wanted to be pushed around like you, and tormenting Shivani for no reason other than the fact that I was jealous that our Aunts played with her more than they did with me. I hated being your big sister. I hated that I felt like everyone skipped over me on their way to carrying you or her. I was a bad big sister for that, to both of you. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for a lot of things, and I promise I’ll make it up to you. I wish I stood up for you when people blocked your wheelchair in Disneyland when we were watching the fireworks. I wish I cussed out your hospital staff for screwing with you so much when you were in a coma. I wish I slapped every ignorant person who ever looked at you like a freak when we were out. I didn’t do any of this for you, and I could’ve. I was always frozen, fuming from the inside. I’m sorry. 

This isn’t going to be the last letter I write to you, I promise. I’ve got loads stacked, because there’s so much I have to say to you that I haven’t said in my vent sessions when I sleep on your floor in the middle of the night. We might not be the type of best friends I’d always imagined for us, but you’re still my best friend. Every night when you cry from your seizures, I can hear you from my room and it feels like someone is poking me in the heart, and I ache because I can’t share that pain with you. I would give anything to trade spots with you, because if I’m being honest, you deserve these legs and this world more than I do. I didn’t appreciate it enough, I didn’t even want to be in it for a while. You would’ve been smarter about your time here, and done more than I ever could— I know it.  

I think it’s fitting that you get this third letter. We’re three years apart, you’re the third in this sisterhood, and you’re the third girl in our family to carry a version of Maa Durga’s name. You’re the reason for almost everything I do, because I feel like I’m living life out for the both of us. Every mountain I climb, finish line I cross, and barrier I break, is one I’m doing on behalf of both of us. Because I know if things were better, you would’ve been there right by my side, beaming while we knocked our obstacles out.

      It’s getting late again, so I’ll save my fears and stories about you for another letter. I just wanted to introduce you and get all this off my chest in a ~somewhat shorter letter, because it was beginning to feel like I was collapsing under all the ‘what-ifs’. They don’t matter. Right now matters, and I’m grateful for every extra day you stay with us.

Goodnight, sweet dreams little sister. I’m here when you need me. 

I love you.

From, 

Me.