What My Baby Sister Taught Me About Love

The lessons I didn’t know I needed.

Jessica and our cousin’s donkey. Photo by Kelly Shattler-Foster.

It was a cold, snowy Thanksgiving Eve morning when my baby sister Jessica was born.

I was twelve and happy to sleep in, snuggled up in my warm bed. I knew something was off when I awoke, and the house was still with silence. Our mother and her father had crept away to our small-town hospital in the middle of the night.

Jessica came into the world with reserved hesitation and skepticism.

She was jaundiced yellow, and cone-headed from doctors using suction to get her through the birth canal. Seeing her for the first time, I felt like she was from another world sent to share a critically important message.

Jessica came forth with calm confidence and a curious disposition that was enthralling. She seemed to know from her first days that life is meant to be a colorful expression of the heart.

. . .

The world, as I knew it, turned upside down.

My mother had remarried and shortly after became pregnant. Until then, I had been an only child and enjoyed my freedom.

Yet, I’d always longed for a sibling. My friends and neighbors were part of larger families, and I thought it would be fun to have a built-in playmate and best friend.

I was excited to care for my new sister. I dressed her up in cute outfits, arranged her toys, and gave her baths with sweet-smelling soaps in the kitchen sink.

She giggled and cooed and melted my heart.

. . .

The complication arose when my mother had my brother thirteen months later and then my youngest sister not quite two years after that. As a teen, being asked to care for three young children while still being a child myself caused a lot of angst and resentment.

I felt like “the help,” and my attitude toward my siblings was often sour. I was jealous and angry. Being the only person in the house with a different last name was a seemingly convenient barrier to inclusion.

It was a tumultuous time in my life. I was desperate to be seen and heard by the emotionally unavailable adults in my home and acted out in the typical teenage ways of drinking, skipping school, hanging around boys for attention, and sneaking out at night to wander the neighborhood.

Jessica was five when I graduated from high school. One of my favorite photos is of her sitting in a metal folding chair beside our brother and youngest sister on the grassy football field where commencement was held.

Shortly afterward, I packed up all the belongings I wanted to keep and left for college four states and fifteen hours away. I visited periodically on holiday breaks or between summer school semesters, but I never spent much time in our hometown again.

. . .

Jessica grew into a fiery, curly-haired force overflowing with a lovely combination of sass and grace. She took to the arts and taught herself to draw, paint, and make comic books. I cherished her drawings and cards, and to this day, I still have one of her elementary school projects tacked up on my fridge.

I missed a lot of my sister’s formative years. I wish I had stories of being at her school plays or helping her through teenage pressures and college essays. I loved her, bragged about her to others, and tried to have a presence from afar.

The truth is I was too hurt, too immature, and too angry to show up for her in a healthy, loving manner. I was deeply disappointed with our parents, and she was an inadvertent casualty of my avoidance.

I carried this remorse and regret for decades, trying to make up for lost time with gifts and vacations.

A few years ago, through my recovery program, I shared these feelings with Jessica and asked for forgiveness. I wanted her to know that while I always loved her, I hadn’t shown my love with my presence or actions, and for that, I was sad and ashamed.

We both cried as the pressure of the elephant in the room was lifted.

. . .

Today is my sister Jessica’s birthday. She’s thirty-three.

I can’t believe my baby sister is in her thirties. How did that happen?

I find myself remembering stories of playing dress-up fashion show, taking her to the park to swing, and teaching her how to tie her shoes with the laces in the shape of bunny ears.

Jessica has blossomed into a kind-hearted, conscious lady who loves sharing art and teaching creativity. She never ceases to amaze me by appreciating the beauty of life’s simple patterns.

While we haven’t lived in the same state since she was five, we’ve done a pretty good job of staying close in the past few years with texts and weekly zoom calls.

While I can’t rewind time and be with her as she grew up, I now make a point to ensure she feels my love for her and knows that I am only a heartbeat away.

In her ever-present calm, curious manner, Jessica continues to be a portal of love, generously sharing herself and inspiring me to do the same.

I never knew a love like this until I had a sister.

Today and every day, my heart overflows with gratitude.

. . .

Rebecca Murauskas is a Life Coach for professionals. She helps people be free of stress and overwhelm, reclaim their purpose, and feel fulfilled. Rebecca and her husband, Adam, abandoned their careers and moved to Panamá in 2019 to pursue passions for helping people heal. Take the free Time Saver Quiz and find additional content at RebeccaMurauskas.com.