SISTER

Finally, the deep tears came.

I have always been the type to shed a tear or two at simple joys -- like looking at the happy faces of my two sons, or the adoring look of a dog or cat, or seeing kindness unfold on a YouTube video -- and seemingly insignificant hurts -- like roadkill, or watching a re-run of "Stepmom," or exhaustion from work. 

But  it takes a while for the deep, choking tears to come for me. When our mom's father, who was my childhood roommate, playmate, occasional enemy, and father figure, passed away, I didn't cry at his funeral but sobbed my eyes out when I visited his grave five years later. When I lost my voice and crumpled while sitting on a pew at the Malate Church, it was two years after I asked the man I was married to for seven years to leave the house for good. 

This morning, I took a look at your photo recently taken with friends at a pizza restaurant, saw the strain beneath the smile, felt the sorrow in your eyes, and I wept.

I wept because I know that look. I had that look for years every time I brushed my hair in front of the mirror. I have looked at my reflection countless of times and practiced stretching my lips into a grin, telling myself that this is how a smile should look and if I can master that, I will look okay. But once my stare goes up from my lips to my eyes, I know that the people who know me will know: that I am not okay. But for the rest of the world, they will not see that but will see the stretched-out lips formed into a smile. 

I wept because you are going through that phase. It is the big sister crying. I carry this mentality in which if the universe made me choose between a loved one getting sick and me losing an arm, I will run and get a hacksaw before anyone can count to five. I can stand whatever blows life rains down on me. But I can not stand any of my loved ones getting hurt, physically and emotionally. I know, this is how everyone grows and becomes better. Still, big sister/mother/daughter/aunt/friend would rather go to war alone.

As odd as it may sound, I celebrate the deep tears. It is a bittersweet milestone reached after going through stages of denial, anger, false hopes, and grief. It is a hyperventilating kind of cry I call the Mother of All Tears that quashes the pain and ushers in peace and comfort. 

You will get there, sister. And you will look back and be amazed and proud of your journey. 

In the meantime, here, take my hand. Take my heart. Take everything I got and use them to make one step forward. Just one. Each day. Even if your soul is screaming to stop. Even if your entire being demands that you turn around and make just one tiny step back. Keep one foot forward. No matter how small, lift one foot up and ahead. 

I will not be with you at the end of the passage. I am with you every small step of the way.