Essay on I Am A Sister - Original Writing
The day I became one was the first day I left the house without a doll in tow. When we arrived at the NICU, I immediately pressed my little nose and palms against the window and peered in with a bit of confusion. Three years old and a couple feet tall, I expected her to resemble one of my dolls, but that wasn’t the case. My doll wore dresses, not cords on her body and face. Mommy and Daddy gently rested their hands on my shoulders; exhaustion hung from their eyes.
“Meagan is not doing well,” they explained.
“Meagan. . .” I tried the word on my tongue.
The doctors entered behind the glass, and I watched as they began pressing buttons on the machines.
“Well, I’m her sister. Lemme help her,” I thought I could make her feel better.
“Not right now, Sweetie, the doctors know what’s best. Okay?”
Looking back, I realize the doctors definitely had a better grasp on Meagan’s care. Now that I have been handed the responsibility, though, I wonder if I am capable of doing the same; I lack my three year old confidence. No one ever provided an instruction manual or guided me along. I’ve simply had to treat each day as a mini adventure in itself, a journey of twists and turns and hugs and tears, but most of all a journey of love.
I am a sister.
At times that means admitting I’m wrong. It means choosing my words wisely and my actions accordingly. Although my intentions are clear, I fear the prowling predators. Boys. My sister does not understand the danger…