One of the best gifts I’ve ever given was to my sister, though I cannot tell you what it was.
As I was leaving Nashville after a quick trip last April and headed back to New York, I wrapped up a rather long-ish box, about a foot long by 6 inches wide and handed it to my sister, Jess, on my way out the door.
If you know me well, you already know that my love language is gift giving. Usually that looks like a bunch of cheesy greeting cards, but every now and then it takes the form of giving presents, too. It’s almost never about the present itself, instead about the need to let someone know how much I care for them.
My sister’s gift was no exception. On top of the box which I wrapped in an NYC map, I included a personal note telling her that whenever she was having a really bad day and feeling quite alone, I wanted her to open this present and to know that I was there with her, that I loved her more than she’d ever know. I did this because I love my big sister, and quite selfishly, I needed her to know. Jess has had my back through thick and thin, when I was mean to her and to myself, when I lied to the world and when I was uncomfortably honest as well. Being at the receiving end of my pent-up anger and airborne hair brushes as a kid, she could have easily thrown the flying words and objects right back at me. But never once can I recall her getting angry in return. Instead she just made me listen to country music and sing my own written lyrics.
A lot of things have changed through the years, but the one thing that hasn’t is the way my sister treats me.
As we got older and life got more cloudy, Jess never claimed to have all the answers, only that she would reside with me throughout all the questions we had together. To me, this is the definition of a best friend.
This time last year, I needed her to know that just because I wasn’t living in Nashville anymore, it didn’t mean that I had left her. I will always be there for her when she needs me. And I am weepingly grateful for the friend and sister she’s been to me. So that’s what my gift meant, not the materialism stored inside.
Regardless, if it had been given to me, I would have purposely created a terrible day within 72 hours just so I could rip it open and see what was inside. But that’s not my sister. One year later and she still hasn’t opened my gift. I doubt it’s because she hasn’t had a bad day in the past 12 months. But as she tells me, “it could always be worse.”
Secretly I like to think that the hope of the gift and what it represents is really what we’re after. To know that we are loved. When we feel loved, we want to become the best versions of ourselves. And Jess makes me want to be my better version.
I admire a lot about my sister, a small slice of which is her beautiful patience, her ability to stay grounded and always in perspective. Jess, you are the best gift I’ve been given.