Happy Birthday, Dear Inga...Happy Birthday to You

Next week is my sister's birthday. She is two years older than I am, but has recently taken to telling people that she's two years younger. When I was in Oklahoma visiting her a few weeks ago, someone asked the question we're always asked when we're together: "Are you two sisters?!" Without skipping a beat and with a shocked expression, I replied, "No. She's my mother!" I thought she was going to stroke out right there in the middle of the V.F.W.

Inga and I are close, in terms of our family. We've had periods in our lives where we've had large gaps of time between communications due to distance and circumstance, but as we've grown older, I think we've decided that we like each other as people and we've become friends. For the past decade at least, we've built a nice, loving and comfortable sister-friendship.

When we were kids, Inga and I were probably each other's best friend. Since we were only two years apart, we were the closest in age of all of our sisters and that made for easy companionship. Because she was older though, she always had that trump card up her sleeve. I was her test subject for many things and I usually ended up either wounded or in trouble because she always made me do everything first. Smart girl, that one.

Me? Not so smart because I always fell for it. I knew I was her guinea pig, but I also wanted to please her, so I always charged ahead (usually after much bickering and bargaining) and tried out the tire swing (which broke with me in it, mid swing), slid down the barn roof (who knew it was rusty and had nails sticking out of it?!), and jumped off the roof with an open umbrella in hand to see if I would float to the ground like Mary Poppins. (I didn't.)

My parents always used to call me the "record keeper" of the family. Not only do I write everything down, but I have an uncanny ability to remember almost everything.

If I am the memory for my family, Inga has been the thread that has tried to keep us all bound together. That thread has been stretched and pulled and has broken many times, yet she persists.

I am grateful for my sister. She is a gift in my life. I often times think that she carries around burdens that are not hers to carry, but how can I convince her to do otherwise? It is who she is.

On her birthday, I wish for her happiness of the greatest sort. The kind of happiness that makes her walk around with a smile on her face for no reason at all and the kind that makes her heart feel like it's floating out of her chest. She deserves that and more.

Happy birthday, Sister. I love you.