So tomorrow is the big day.
My baby sister (who shall always be titled “my baby sister” no matter how old she really is) will walk down the aisle in a white dress and marry her love.
I will help her get ready. Hold her bouquet. Bustle her dress. Toast to her happiness. And then watch her leave as Mrs. Hampton. After all, she did it for me 9 years ago, and we all knew the day would come when I would play the role of maid of honor for her. And yet, each time I sit down to go over what I want to say to her in my toast… I feel that same familiar lump of emotion in my throat. You would think I’ve had enough time to really allow this to all sink in… but I’m still in a somewhat state of disbelief.
I mean, after all, she is my baby! With a 6 year age difference between us, Emily was always seen as many things to me.
She was my buddy, my partner in crime, my secret-keeper, my confidant, my friend, and at many times- she was like my own baby, whom I often found myself mothering, worrying over and treating her as if I was her mother. I can’t help it. We worry about, and boss around those that we truly love, right? She was my little sister, and at the end of the day- she was the one I could always call. And the funny thing is, as much as she might roll her eyes and protest my bossiness…. she loved it. Or maybe it was simply that she allowed it. Because we are sisters- and we both allow each other to have certain roles in each others’ lives. Oh, if the walls in our bedrooms could talk, they could tell you of countless secrets and conversations we shared as kids. The pinkie-promises, the sister-secrets, the stories, and the endless giggles over inside jokes that only we would understand…
And although we now carry the names of Anderson & Hampton, we will always be Riolo sisters.
No matter how much changes, she is always my baby sister.