Dear Big Sister,
Getting to stand beside you while you enter this next chapter is one of the biggest honors I will ever have. Your wedding day is going to be filled with tons of professions of love—from your new husband, from our parents, from your best friends who have gathered from all over to be with you on this special day. But before all of that starts—before the pops of champagne and loud music and trails of laughter—I wanted to take a second to give you my own love note. Just a quiet one, like the way our conversations used to lull in the late hours of the night while we watched movie after movie together. For a moment, before the dazzling celebration begins, this is just between you and me.
It’s funny; my whole life you’ve done everything first. You’ve navigated difficult friend moments, rough breakups, nerve-wracking first days of school, exciting first dates, and everything in between first. The path I have followed, marked with helpful road signs and a clear way to find my footing was forged by you. Yet, now, I am the one to do something first; I am the first one to be your Maid of Honor, to be your right hand as you enter this new chapter. I am the first one to figure out how to loosen my grip a bit.
And the thing is, I have no clue how to do it. I don’t have any manual to follow or experience to draw on. It’s all unmowed wildflowers instead of a paved road. This must be how you’ve felt for every first. Thank goodness you are the oldest. (Thank you for being the oldest.)
Regardless of the oddity of this role reversal, I am going to do my best to find the best words in the best order for you. The bottom line is I love you, and there are a million ways for me to say that.
You were the one who introduced me to my favorite rom coms and stayed up late with me to watch them, long after the house was quiet. All of those movie nights with you are the reason I love love stories. In many ways, you introduced me to the type of love that I find so enchanting.
You’re the one I call when I’m scared. Whether it was when I was little and crawled into your arms (you’ve been my default third parent since birth) when Mom and Dad were at work, or when I was living across the country and needed someone to talk me down from all the scary parts of venturing out on my own, you are the number I dial.
You’ve always been like a celebrity to me. When I was little, I treasured the moments when I perched on your bed—careful not to move it an inch lest I threaten the perfect symmetry of the room—and got to bask in the thrill of being around you. I wanted to absorb your self-assurance and sophistication. My memories of growing up with you are shrouded in clouds of your sugary sweet perfume and tinged with the tangerine-colored cream you worked through my hair before blow drying it. I wanted to grow into the kind of woman I saw you becoming. Every aspect of you—from your crystal clear voice to your perfectly assembled outfits to the easy way you swiped a makeup brush so easily across your cheeks—was beautiful and perfect.
When I think of you, though, it’s not your beauty that I think of first. It’s your strength. It’s your power. We’ve always joked that at just five feet tall, you’re fun sized. The truth is that you pack more of a punch than anyone I know when it comes to bravery—in all the ways. I’ve seen you fearlessly stand up to people twice your size and also radically forgive them. Your strength does not just go one way, and that is rare. I strive to emulate you in that way.
Getting married is another act of bravery from you. I’ve been by your side as lesser boys have been careless with your heart. Time after time, you have repaired it and trusted it to guide you in the right direction. We’ve navigated divorces and betrayals; we’ve seen the ways that love can get twisted and wiry. Some people would let that alter their view of Happily Ever After altogether. But not you. No, your love for your soon-to-be husband and his for you is more than just a commitment; it is a declaration. It is a statement that the heart is not only capable of repair but capable of finding true north—capable of finding the right one, despite thorns and shadows along the way.
You’ve never taken me less seriously for being the younger sister. At 9 years old I was shelling out dating advice to you beyond any scope of my own experience, but you never disregarded it. I could do the same now. I could give you the advice that seems to be common for people when they get married, although I have no personal experience with which to vouch for it. It will take work; it is a choice to be made continuously; it is about more than just pure, unabashed love. I am not going to do that, though. I am not going to give you advice purely because I don’t think you need it. You are more than prepared to step into this new chapter. Instead, I’d rather give you my wish list—a few hopes I have for you to hold near as you take that walk down the aisle.
I hope you feel more like a tree and less like a bird.
Whether it’s the infamous If you’re a bird, I’m a bird speech from The Notebook or the age old adage of flying the nest, growing up—and the milestones, like marriage, that come with it—is often looked at through binoculars. People anticipate soaring off into the horizon, their early life but a speck in the distance when their wings are strong enough to support them. I don’t want this for you. I want you to feel like you are a tree.
As you take each step down the aisle, I hope your feet feel like roots that are expanding. I hope this next phase of your life produces branches that intertwine with the ones you already have, and that each season—though it may have its windy or cold moments—still makes you pause and look at how beautiful all the colors are. I hope that your marriage makes you feel grounded instead of flighty; rather than swooping up in the sky, out towards the distance, I hope the earth around you feels cool, calming, and supportive. I hope that as each year passes, you get more rings to show for it (silver, gold, diamond, you name it), and I hope you dance and sway daily, even when it rains—especially when it rains.
I hope it’s more.
“So is this moment everything you hoped for?”
“No. It’s more. It’s much more.”
- 27 Dresses
It’s arguably one of the cheesiest lines to end a saccharine sweet rom com, but as you walk down the aisle—and as you embark upon this next chapter of life—I hope it’s more. I hope the moment bends and shifts and surprises you in all of the best ways. I hope it feels like the rarity of finding a dress in a store that you wouldn’t typically choose but that turns out to fit like it was made for you. I hope that you look around once in a while and realize that your life does not look like how you thought it would—that you were not so clairvoyant or boring that you succeeded in planning out every minute of it—but that it is so much more than you ever would have dared to bargain for.
I’ve always loved the phrasing of this line because of the “more.” Typically, we look at big moments and say that they are “better.” Better than our dreams made them out to be, better than what it would have been had our dreams been right.“Better” implies that there was a threshold to transcend. But more? “More” implies that you already got the best—you just got an abundance of it. And that is on my wish list for you: abundance.
I hope your marriage sparkles.
Not in the way that glitter does, where it gets everywhere and only catches your attention in the least opportune moments. But in the way that cameras flash. In the way that the stars shine. In the way that champagne dances on your tongue. In the way that smiles crack open on faces and the way that lights seem to stretch out through the blur of happy tears. I hope you feel sparkly—not just in your wedding dress, but in your marriage. In your home. In your life. I hope that even when this weekend is over and the fanfare has quieted, the life you’re building twinkles back at you. And I hope that even in the moments that feel more like unexpected-glitter-on-a-birthday-card-that-goes-everywhere than the shine of the ring on your finger, you find something dazzling in the irony of it all.
Big Sister, it is an honor to stand by your side this weekend, but it is an even bigger honor to be beside you on every other ordinary day. Thank you for always letting me be by your side—for reserving my spot there and holding me from day one, until I could balance and stand on my own two feet.
So here’s to your marriage—may it ground you and grow with you; may it be more, much more; and may it sparkle.
All my love,
Your Little Sister