This is not news, but I have the best sisters. Ever.
I sincerely believe this sentiment cannot be reiterated enough. Like most sisters, we have had our ups and our downs. As the middlest among us I have personally pulled each one of their hairs, and their lovely pale arms have worn bruises baring a canny resemblance to the perfect crescent of my bite. I have stolen their clothes, broken their dolls, and blamed them for things I knew they never did. They have made me so mad that I have slammed doors and stomped so hard it hurt. And they have broken my heart so deeply that I could hardly breath.
And while I know in my mind each that each of these things has happened, I have all but lost these memories. In their place sits a vast library of adventures, and travels, and sharing, and collaborating. There is the time Kimber and I almost stole a car (by accident), the parties with Charity and her artsy friends, and every night feeling like a slumber party when I’m in the company of Mercina and Glorianna. There are the hundreds of dinners we have cooked together, and the “ridiculously good” deals we’ve shared. And at the heart of it, there is the deep and sincere knowledge that we want what is the very best for one another, and will do whatever we can to make that happen.
Two days before my wedding, my sisters surprised me with the most perfect bachelorette party I could have dreamed of. The culture of bachelorette parties in America is something that generally doesn’t speak to me. They are a celebration of one’s unattached status, and, evidently, anything phallic girls can get their hands on. But the French term for “bachelorette party” is enterrement de vie de jeune fille directly translated to mean "burial of the life of the young girl". I feel that captures the essence of the celebration I was thrown much more aptly. We came together to bid adieu to my childhood and to welcome in the next chapter in our customary fashion. This is to say, with laughter, good food, a late night, but most importantly, together.