Becky

I love this photo of my sister Becky. Like many photos of Becky, it includes a dog. When I was small, there were two things I knew about Becky: she loved animals, and she loved me. Becky is 11 years, 361 days older than I. I'm sure she didn't ask for the job, but she was my mother much of the time. Perhaps our own mother was preoccupied with our baby brother, or her career, or just putting food on the table, but I can remember being dressed and fed by Becky, waiting at the door for her to come home in the afternoon, and climbing onto her lap and wrapping my arms around her neck. Becky was always laughter and smiles, chatter and more laughter. She made me feel wanted and loved. Her mothering was an art she cultivated early, and practiced her entire life. Long after Becky was a mother of two and I was a mother of four, I would still call her when I needed mothering. More than just a good listener, she offered practical advice with a large dose of sympathy, followed by encouragement, optimism, and a good strong ego boost. Money couldn't buy better therapy than a chat with my sister. I still hear her voice, full of excitement as she comes to the phone. It could have been the most awful day for her, but she never gave any indication. She would make me feel as if my phone call was the best thing that could happen. I know by her voice that she is smiling and her eyes are dancing. She wants to hear everything I have to say; I feel as if I am the most important person in the world to her. "Oh, Chrissy!" she would say. No one could ever have been as blessed as I have been with sisters. Oh Becky, I hope that before I said goodbye, I remembered to tell you how much I love you.