Sisterhood

It was in the morning when the text bubble I had been waiting for appeared on my phone. I was up long before this; it never even crossed my mind that I would sleep through one of the most important moments of my life, so I set my alarm nice and early that day and the sound on my phone all the way up. I was on Facetime with my older cousin when I got the message from my dad, and the second I saw it, I screamed. I ran out of my room yelling, “Emma’s here, Emma’s here!”

It was a picture of a pretty little newborn girl, with a sweet wrinkly forehead.

I had been waiting for her for months, but the second I got to hold her tiny little self swaddled in her adorable llama print blanket in my arms, the want for time to go faster went away, and instead it shifted to a need for this moment to last forever. I was 10 at the time, but the age gap didn’t matter to me. She was going to be my best friend, my little sidekick. Yes, I love my little brother, but there was just something about a sister to do (for a lack of better words) all the “girly” things with which is what I was longing for. I had been daydreaming for months about all the things we would do together; we were going to have tea parties with plastic princess cups, dress-up dolls, braid each other's hair, and share all of our secrets with each other. I had it all planned out. We were going to be like the sister duos I had read about in books and seen on TV.

As Emma started getting older, she wasn’t hitting normal milestones. Autism was one of those things I had heard about, but never really understood. So when Emma and autism were said in the same sentence, it was confusing. What did this mean? All of a sudden there was a waterfall of new vocabulary. Overstimulation, occupational therapy, neurodivergence, stimming, spectrum, caregiver, Levels 1, 2 and 3, developmental delays. This waterfall seemed like it was washing everything down the drain, instead of what my beautiful Emma could do, the professionals were talking about everything that she wouldn’t ever do. All of a sudden she needed to be “fixed.”

I made the fatal mistake I think most people make: googling and going down the rabbit hole of articles. I researched and researched, trying to understand. The unknown filled me with dread, and not being able to get a solid answer was horrible. How do I fix this? I never had a eureka moment, it was a slow process. Upon reflection though, over time I came to a different mindset. For something to have the need to be fixed, it needs to be broken to begin with. She wasn't broken; there is nothing broken about a girl who sees the world differently. That unknown I was scared of turned into opportunity, and however corny it is, everything is what you make it.

She is almost six now, and we have never had a conversation through spoken words, never had a tea party, never whispered secrets, and never braided each other's hair. We also never or ever will need words to communicate. One look, pull of a hand, basic body language, says more than a thousand words. I see now my original dreams were so shallow. Instead, I got a different kind of love impossible to put into words, a more powerful version of sister than cliche moments, and a whole different level of understanding. Sisterhood is built on far more meaningful moments now; in the way she feels safe to crash into me when things are too much and she knows I won’t let her fall, when she stares into me with her soul-searching eyes, and when we side-eye each other to share that little secret we don’t need words to convey.

The only thing I think needs to be fixed has nothing to do with her. It is how others perceive her and all the misunderstanding revolving around people like her. I wish I could carry around a pamphlet to hand to people every time she gets funny (even rude) looks in public because she does something not “normal”. Or when people learn about her diagnosis and treat it like a tragedy before they even get to know her. People often tell me things like what a great sister I am, how lucky Emma is to have me, how patient I am with her, or how awesome I am for playing with her. I understand they usually mean well, but it feels weird when complete strangers applaud me for merely coexisting with her.

In the end, I realized Emma didn't need to change to fit mine or others' understanding of the world. She changed my understanding of the world for the better instead.