Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Ashlea Brooke, a poem dedicated to sisterhood.

AshleaBrooke.
I remember the first time Mom told me of your coming. A smile crept across my face. You were so lucky! How extraordinary to be loved before you even took your first breath. You were peach fuzz, baby powder, giggles, and wonder. I didn't think I could ever love anything more. But I was mistaken. I’ve come to realize that you can always love more. And its true. Today, I love you more. I've watched you grow. Being ten years older than you gave me the advantage of making you my baby doll. I would hold you. Lovingly gaze at you. Whisper sweet-nothings. Tell you everything would be alright. Mom told me "This is your little sister. Do you love her?" And I did. I loved you so very, very much. I have a picture of me holding you. You were just a baby. Mom bought us matching pink nightgowns. You were on my lap, your long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings at the camera. You were so delicate, I wanted to be your shield from whatever hurt the world could toss your way. I remember playing with you outside one Easter --you couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3. I was supposed to be watching you, but as I ran to greet arriving visitors, you ran to catch up with me. I watched in horror as you fell in s l o w motion mere feet from me scraping your face and hands and chipping your 2 front baby teeth. I cried and blamed myself for days, wishing I was there to catch you, if even to cushion your fall. Isn't that what I was supposed to do? Protect and care for little you? Today you’re big and brave. That little girl is all grown up. You've since graduated from my baby doll to my partner in crime. Ice cream truck stops, riding the Barbie Jeep, and Disney vacations have transformed into Starbucks runs, modeling shoots, and manicure appointments. It’s amazing how time flies. And just like that - you’re picking out your Prom dress wearing makeup, gazing into the eyes of your boyfriend longer than I'm comfortable with and being a grown-up "little" sister. And I'm left to stand by and watch. Wishing time went just a little bit slower. Wishing I was able to savor these moments, just a little bit longer. The other day I found a piece of paper in my drawer. It read “My biggest inspiration” by Ashlea Brooke Azzopardi. And at the top written in your best elementary school handwriting was my name. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I am not sure why. Perhaps I felt I wasn’t deserving or worthy of all your admiration. I spend four years away from you during college and while I was home- well, I’m confident I could have been a much better role model to you. But there it was in black and white: Proof of the love sisterhood holds despite mistakes, wrongs, and let-downs. Today as I watch you gracefully sweep across the stage and steel the hearts of all who watch you dance I am filled with pride. Pride because you glow from the inside out. Pride because you stand behind your beliefs, even if it means you miss out on some stuff. Pride because your spirit is unbreakable, despite people challenging and testing you often. Pride because you prove anyone wrong who doubts that brains and beauty can’t coexist. I feel proud that the girl whose hair is made of golden waves of spun silk, whose eyelashes that reach to the sky and open to the same color, whose soul I’m confident would equal a beautiful symphony if you could translate heartbeats into musical notes.... isnt just a figment of my imagination. She is very real. She is YOU.
By: Rachel Yarmosh

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