Aren’t we four and ten still? Writing secret messages back and forth when we were supposed to be asleep? (Sorry, Mom & Dad.) Aren’t we six and twelve still? Bickering over who had to make the bed and what the standard of “clean” would pass for a clean room? Aren’t we just eight and fourteen, facing the enormity of a cross-state move? Blissfully unaware that in four years we would be tackling a cross-ocean move to Africa? What happened to the twelve- and eighteen-year-olds who boarded that jet to Kenya not really sure what the next two years would hold? Since when did we hit that point where antagonism became friendship and sisters became sisterfriends? I mean, aren’t we supposed to still be fighting over who gets to play Oregon Trail next?
Suddenly, we’re old: both of us in our twenties, both graduates of college, both moved out of the house, both with jobs, both with…boys?!
Sisterfriend, you’re not old enough to have a boyfriend! You’re not old enough to be engaged!! You’re not old enough to be compiling a wedding party! You’re not old enough to be getting married!!!
But hey: I guess if I’m old enough to be in my third year of marriage, you’re old enough to be planning a wedding. Maybe. Only maybe.
Josiebelle, Joannabanna, Joey, Joanna, JoJo: yes, I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor because I remember going to the hospital to meet you.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor despite that time you glared at me and argued with me and, ultimately, adamantly pointed me to Truth when I forgot it.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor since you are my muse, my inspiration, my bestest friend, my fiercest ally, my forever darling.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor after you cheered me on when I felt like I couldn’t…go…one…more…minute…of…school…without losing my mind.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor because you showed up at my doorstep armed with flowers, DVDs, Ben & Jerry’s, Chick-fil-A Lemonade, and a shoulder to cry on when I faced that traumatic break-up.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor, Joanna, but I will warn you: I’ll be the one blubbering at the front, making a mess of my mascara, stumbling through a teary speech, and remembering when I changed your diapers.
I’ll be your sisterfriend-of-honor, o ye my sisterfriend, but I can’t promise to not cry in the process.
I’ll be your sisterfriend-of-honor, but that won’t stop me from taking photos all.the.time at your wedding.
I will be your sisterfriend-of-honor, Josiebelle, but only if you let me plan the bachelorette party of the century to try to return the favor from that time you rented a limousine the night before my wedding.
I will gladly be your sisterfriend-of-honor, sisterfriend….
….but mostly because I am glad to be your sisterfriend.
Didn’t my sisterfriend do a stunning job when she asked me: “Will you be my bridesmaid?” All those color swatches? The hand-thrown pottery? The trinket box? The Lindt chocolate? The to-cry-for title?
Yes, my little sister is getting married. (Whaaat?!?!?)
Yes, I’m convinced she’s still seven. (I don’t think she’ll ever be older than that: let’s face it! It’s my job!)
Yes, I’ll be her sisterfriend-of-honor. (Sounds less daunting than “matron of honor”!)
Yes, I’ll be her photographer. (Eeep!)