Whenever girlfriends of mine would proclaim before marching down the aisle that they were marrying their best friends, I’d gush and smile — but I couldn’t exactly relate. You see, for about 26 years and counting, my younger sister has been (and always will be) my best friend.
That’s not to say I don’t love my husband. I do, very much. But when I had a major meltdown moments before our wedding rehearsal was set to begin (I’m talking mascara running down my face, sliding down the wall, and kicking off my heels), it was my sister — not my mom, not my husband, not my bridesmaids — who talked me off the ledge and down the aisle.
And it’s not the first time she’s had my back.
There was the time I was overwhelmed before my senior year dance recital, and she calmed me down in a nearby bathroom. There was the time, during a minor league baseball game, when panic finally set in that I was leaving my hometown to move to the big city of Chicago, and she coaxed me back down to reality.
And during my most recent public crying fit the day after the election, she was the first person I called.
The truth is, she’s always been there for me — for every ugly cry, every major moment, every time I needed her.
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