I should be packing, but instead....

I decided to read through old e-mails. I talked to Soren today ( now 17 years old and proud owner of a drivers' license AHHH!) I love him a lot.
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"Boy? Why are you crying?"

Soren is 15 years old today! Glories and riches, how did that happen? And as much as he hates to admit it...he does look like Peter Pan in the new movie.

My dearest brother, do you remember the day we met? The day you were born? I do. I was 5 years old.

Daddy and I had gone on a walk, with Maren in her stroller, just around the block. We stopped by the red brick Army hospital ( you have a brick from your hospital sitting on your chest of drawers, it was torn down years later, but we managed to swipe a momento.) I remember pulling off some small waxy leaves from the hedge that lined the entrance walkway. I called the hedge a "George Washington Bush" Daddy thought it was funny, I never knew why until later. The scent of the leaves mixed with the smell of wet pavement, the sky was overcast and we headed home.

I'm sure I knew you were comming. Mom would have explained to me that we were going to have a new baby in the house. I was excited, it would be like having a doll to dress up--my very own baby! I don't remember Dad rushing off to the hospital, where Mom had walked after her water broke. However, I do remember Maren and I were at the neighbors house across the street. It was a long weary afternoon and soon boredom set in, I was ready to go home. The phone rang and the neighbor answered it. She told me I had a new baby brother.

"Did he cry?" I asked in a concerned voice.

" Oh no, sweetheart! He didn't cry, don't worry. It didn't hurt him."

My life was imediately shattered. You didn't cry! The baby didn't cry! "That's horrible!", I thought. Maren didn't cry, thats how Mom and Dad had explained it to me--that's how the doctors knew she was hurt. If you didn't cry that meant that you would be like Maren, that Mom and Dad would spend more sleepless nights, and be worried and sad about you too!

I flung myself onto the tan fuzzy carpet and sobbed. Tears were streaming down my face, dripping of my trembling chin.

"She's crying!---Do you want to talk to her?"

The neighbor handed me the phone, " Kjisten, honey, your baby brother is just fine. He cried. He's strong and healthy!"

Suddenly all was well. I decided to draw you a picture to see when you came home from the hospital. Its in your baby book now. I printed my "most fancy writing" just for you.

A few days later, Daddy took me to see you. I remember we used the back entrance. My wet shoes squeaked on the big, polished, lima bean colored tiles. We walked into your room, Mom was sitting in the corner, underneath the window holding you, in a white blanket. I inched forward, in total awe of the scene. Grey---Seattle grey, light poured listlessly into the room, illuminating Mom's hair so that it glowed like a halo. A sort of, Madonna and child portrait displayed before my small frame. I stood by your side, and looked down at your feet, which were purple! Mom said that would go away soon. Your scrunched baby face and tiny hands were adorable to behold. I fell inlove with you immediately!

Oh, of course, a few years later, Mom had to remind me that I did indeed love you. Especially when you messed with my things, got into my room, tagged along with me where ever I went. But we had some good times, my impish brother. We would play "Army" and "Lost orphan children" in the woods behind our house. Picking blackberries in the huge briar along the lake...trying so desperately to spot a real fairy that might be lurking there. Countless stories and secret codes, our own special fortress among the three cedar trees.

Now, at the end of August we climb up in the old oak treehouse, in the woods bordering the blueberry patch, and strawberry rows. If we are lucky...We can glimpse the fireflies danceing along the edge of the feilds. We lay our sleeping bags down and listen to the faries pelt acorns at us. You'll talk to me of growing up, and fears concerning the future.

Years have passed so fast....I can't hardly believe that the small boy I knew, running around with me in red rainboots and "magic" popgun tied to his belt is now a freshman in highschool.

You are my one and only. My sweetest, most clever, imaginative, mercifull, fun-loving, talented, amazing, bright, stubborn, crazy, funny, entertaining, intelligent, awesome, brother. I shall love you for forever and a day.

Happy Birthday Soren, don't ever grow up.

Much love from your crazy sister,

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17 long days until I see him again.