I’ve lived in the same house for over 10 years, with the same room, same dog, and the same people. One of the hardest things I had to do was adjust to my oldest sister beginning her college life 2 1⁄2 hours away at Penn State University. By the time I got used to only having her home every other weekend and just my middle sister around, she also left for the University of Georgia. 12. Hours. Away. The house wasn’t empty, but it sure felt like it. Suddenly, the physical items I gained in my life didn’t make up for the loss I was experiencing inside.
Yes, I added hundreds of new clothing items to my closet, but they weren’t mine.
Yes, I had 10 shoe choices for my first dance, but there was no sister to curl my hair.
Yes, I got to choose dinner for the majority of the week.
What was that sickening feeling?
No, it wasn’t because I hadn’t eaten lunch; I simply had no appetite.
No, it wasn’t that I was being teased at school for things I hated about myself.
No, it wasn’t because I was fighting with my parents.
Maybe I was lonely.
I had friends, so it wasn’t that. I had a friend group that hung out every weekend, and I even had a boyfriend when they moved away, so what was making me sad?
It was the two empty beds that were freshly made and clean for when Thanksgiving break started. One all the way at the end of the hallway, and another just on the other side of where I lay my head every night.
Experiencing this at 11 years old made the idea of my sisters moving in with other family members at 16 years old easier. It makes me emotional, but not depressed. It makes me happy, and excited. I want them to succeed, and I know they want the same for me.
No matter how old they get or how old I get, I still feel a rush of adrenaline when I know they are coming home. Having four cars parked on my street gives me a sense of security. And the smile I get to see on my grandmother’s face when I say “Marah and Peyton come home on Friday!” will beat everything else I have ever experienced in life.
But the question I find myself asking is, is this still their home? Their rooms are ready for cuddling, but is this house still their home? Marah lives at my great aunt Paulette’s house. Peyton’s lives at Uncle Kevin and Aunt Tiffany’s house. My house is my parents’ house. Three different kids. Three different houses. Three different lives.
So, yeah, the sad part is that this is my new reality, and it can be pretty lonely at times. But the relieving part is that I am lucky enough to have people I miss this much when they are gone. Even through the recent changes we have experienced, my sisters have their lives, and I have found a new way to look at my own role as the youngest sister.
