Being the Big Sister

Any girl that has younger siblings knows what it means to be the big sister.  Knowing what it means and being able to put it into words, however, are two very different things.  Often times, when I try to explain what it is like to be the big sister to 4 younger brothers, I don’t know that I do it justice.  Being a big sister requires you to wear a lot of different hats: friend, protector, 2^nd mom, judge/jury, confidant, voice of reason; the list is really endless.  Over the years I’ve worn different hats for each of my different siblings.  They are some of the most rewarding yet tumultuous relationships a person can have.  While at times it has been overwhelming, they are the biggest part of who I am.  They have seen me at my best and cheered me on and they have seen me at my worst and loved me anyway, maybe even because of it.  It’s the sort of stuff eternal bonds are made of. 

I always used to joke that though I came from a big family, I didn’t want one-too hectic.  But in truth, I never wanted Kennedy to be alone.  With her I was able to understand how people were of the opinion that one was enough; she filled my heart so completely.  Although I think there is nothing wrong with being an only child, growing up with both older and younger siblings, I knew how full her life could be with a brother or sister.  So when I got pregnant again, while I was excited for a new baby, my thoughts were focused on Kennedy.  How would it impact her?  Would our relationships with her change or suffer in any way? 

As soon as we told her she would be becoming a big sister it was game on for her.  She immediately began the rotation of the hats.  Friend:  “I’m gonna play with the baby”; Protector:  “I’m gonna hug the baby if he’s scared”; 2^nd mom:  referring to him constantly by his first and middle names, Jack Holden, etc.  All of the many ways she showed what being a big sister means without ever being taught made me wonder if that love we have for our siblings isn’t something that is learned but lies dormant in our hearts when and if it is ever needed.  Sean and I tried to help prepare her for what having a baby brother would look like as best we could and when we found out Jack would be born with Down syndrome, we added that into the preparatory mix as well; we learned it wouldn’t be something that took away from her life experience but would add to it, enhance it even. She was ready, a big sister natural.

So when we lost Jack, trying and find a way to explain it to a 2 ½ year old in words she could understand was heart wrenching.  The psychologists at the hospital urged us to try and be as concrete in our explanation as we could be.  Use words like died and dead.  Try and avoid abstract concepts like: passed away, in heaven, resting; she would only be confused.  They said be prepared for her to bring it up often.  And she did and still does; many times just as a quick acknowledgement of the facts, moving on to another topic just as quickly.  At his funeral she carried a tiny bouquet of flowers given to her by the funeral home to lie at Jack’s grave at the cemetery.  When the time came where she could place them down she refused saying, “No, they’re mine.”  See?  A natural big sister, laying claim to what was hers.

I don’t think at the time I was able to fathom the profound loss she was going through.  I see it now from time to time when she’ll say things like, “Maybe he’ll come soon!” or “I miss baby Jack” or perhaps the most heartbreaking of all, “I’m so disappointed that Jack isn’t here, he died”.  Disappointed?  The word choice I will credit to Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood (she’s an avid enthusiast), but the feeling itself, the feeling of something missing from her life, can only be described as visceral.  How else could you explain a toddler missing someone she never even got to meet in person?

She is lonely.  I know this because if I am away from my sister or brothers for too long, I feel it myself.  It feels as though you are not whole.  It is what life looks like when you have no one to boss around.  I see it in the way she orders Sean and I around, talks to her baby dolls, or how she tells her cousin how he should be treating his own baby brother.

One hat I never even considered what it would be like to wear as a sibling presented itself yesterday morning.  The 26^th of March would have been Jack’s delivery date had things gone differently.  Sean stayed home from work and we decided to visit the cemetery.  We refer to it as Jack’s special place to Kennedy.  We bought a bouquet of flowers and I let her pick out a small Mylar balloon on a stick.  Without being prompted she chose a small red heart that read ‘I Love You. Today, Tomorrow and Always’.  It seemed like the perfect way to explain a big sister’s love for her little brother.  We arrived at Jack’s graveside and got Kennedy out of the car.  She walked along side her daddy to her baby brother’s special place; a place where the snow from almost 2 months after we laid him to rest had melted and still showed the tiny rectangular imprint in the recently replaced ground.  She squatted down in the gentlest way and said, “Hi Jack.”  I breathlessly watched and captured my little girl, a baby still her self as evidenced by the pacifier that occupied her tiny mouth (don’t get on me about that, we’re working on it ok?!) placed the flowers and balloon down, gracefully wearing perhaps the most important hat a big sister possesses: Memory Keeper.   For that baby boy will never be forgotten so long as his big sister has a say in it.