Dear Mom and Dad,

When Shelby was 7, she had her first tumor removed. When Hilary was 4, she fell through the bleachers. When Caroline was 11, she got on the wrong bus. Through out the years, they’ve given me little notes that I’ve saved. 1 sentence on a sticky note, “To: Josy” on a sticker. Even with my name spelled wrong, those notes mean more to me than what any person would suspect.

I had walked into my house after a long and tiring rehearsal. The door clicked shut, and instantly I heard the recliner click. Small, light feet began to sprint to the dining room. A high pitch voice calls out,

“Josie! I got something for you at the Kringle Jingle!”

She was so excited that she had been able to buy a present for me with her own money. Her face was lit up like the Christmas tree that sat in our living room 10 feet away. Never before had I seen Hilary so happy. The present that she got me was a car adapter for my Ipad charger. That wasn’t what I loved about the gift. On top of the present was a little Christmas sticker that read,

“To: Josy

From: Hilary”

In sloppy 1st grade hand writing. You’d think that by 6, she would know how to spell my name. That sticker sits in my traffic-cone orange folder. Santa smiles every time I open it to grab my homework. It’s a reminder to me everday that she’s alive and healthy, because for 3 hours in 7th grade, I didn’t know if she ever would be again.

The varsity band had just begun to play to play, and were about half way through their first song. As always, I was emersed in the music of the older kids; drowning in the best way possible. The music, and my joy stopped when a lady three-fourths of the way up the visitors bleachers screamed,

“Someone call 911!”

Immediately, the crowd was thrown into a panic. “What happened?”, “Who was hurt?” No one knew. Rumors began to spread like a wildfire in the grasslands, during a drought.

“Josie, I heard that it was your sister!”

I brushed that one off, there was no way. She wasn’t even at the concert. Then I heard that it was a 3 year old boy, and I felt more comfortable knowing that it couldn’t have been her. Then a 6 year old girl. Then… a 4 year old girl. I stopped dead in my thoughts. That was Hilary. I was 12, and she was 4. After a few minutes, the band began to play again, but we still didn’t know who it was. I looked up, and Mrs. Ellesworth began walking toward me. She had the same look as a doctor about to tell a family that their loved one didn’t make it. I knew. I began crying and she shook her head yes. Hilary had slipped through the bleachers. 911 was on its way. She was hurt. Now you see why I carry her sticker. Move 3 hours later, and my family came home from the hospital, and a miracle had happened. Hilary was fine. That note reminds me everyday that she’s fine, and that she’s no longer allowed to sit on bleachers. Four years later, Hil’s as healthy as ever. She’s got a smile that sparkles with innocence and mischief. Adult teeth that don’t quite fit in her child sized mouth. A single freckle dots her face, and her unmanageable hair only encourage’s her not to brush it. I carry her sticker to keep my baby sister with me.

It was 6:47 in the morning. The dawn had yet to break, and the moon and stars could still easily be seen. Through my morning grogginess, and unwillingness to leave my warm, plush bed, everything was just a little hazy. Coming down the stairs, I noticed nothing wrong at first, until suddenly, I looked into my unlit, shadowed living room to see a 4? 7?, skinny, dark haired 10 year old starring at me. She was almost identical to Wednesday Addams, with her 2 dark braids, her pale skin, and her round face, despite the fact that she radiated happiness. She ventured out of the living room, and into the lit dining room. The brown walls looked so light in comparison to the night sky just beyond the glass doors. The room was filled with the sounds of silence and last minute adjustments to clothes and backpacks. Only one sentence came from Caroline.

“There’s something special in your lunch for you!”

Now that may sound insignificant, and almost creepy, but I expected a bite sized candy waiting for me. Instead, I got a sweet note in sloppy handwriting, “Have a great day! I love you!” Caroline’s an artist, so she just had to go all out with decorating. It was the sweetest part of my week. I carry her note to feel her love.

Shelby is a year and a half younger than me. She’s an inch taller, with red hair, and rail thin! She’s annoying and too hyper sometimes, but in the end, she’s one of my best friends, and probably my maid of honor come my wedding day. Maybe one day, I’ll have a note from Shelby to add to my few from my other sisters, but I’m not concerned about that. I love my sisters, and in their own way, they love me too.

Sincerely,

Josie