I wouldn’t say my sister and I have ever really had a good relationship. And I don’t mean we fought a lot. Siblings fight, it happens. We despised one another. We didn’t just argue; we physically fought. If I knew she did something bad, there was no way I was ‘keeping her secret.’ I went straight to my parents and could not wait to see her get in trouble. She was a bit smarter than me, keeping my secrets and using them as black mail. I wanted so badly to have the relationship with her that other sisters had. She could be my best friend. I wanted us to make stupid decisions together, smart decisions together, and eventually life decisions together. But at the time, it seemed like that would never be possible.
It fluctuated over the years, some times better, some times much, much worse. It wasn’t just a childhood or adolescent ‘thing.’ This kind of relationship, or the lack thereof, lasted up until about 6 months before she left. We started to slowly get closer and work towards at least being able to be around one another. Then it hit. WE ARE SISTERS!! That isn’t going away. For as long as I can remember, Mom told us over and over again that “friends will come and go but we will always be sisters.” She wasn’t going away. She isn’t some friend that royally ticked me off and I never have to speak to her again. Like it or not she was not going away.
And at that moment, I didn’t want her to.
All I kept thinking in the weeks prior to September 4 was, “She’ll back out, she is too much of a home body to go through with this, and she will never actually go.” I avoided talking about it. I avoided her fundraising events. I wanted to believe it was because I cared more about what was going on in my life than hers, but in all reality I wasn’t ready to face the 28,512,000 seconds without the girl who had become my best friend.
The day she left, I followed her into my parents garage, gave her the fastest, most awkward hug I have ever given anyone, handed her a letter I had written and briskly walked to my car and left. That is when they flood gates opened. I cried for the next 30 minutes. And all I could ask myself was why. “Why are you crying? You don’t even really like her! It’s not like she’s never coming back. Just quit.” My tears didn’t listen. My heart and emotions knew… she was irreplaceable.
So for this crazy thing called the World Race, I am thankful. Thankful for it prompting the healing process between me and my, now, best friend. I don’t know why it took her leaving, I don’t know why it took all the years of hatred and betrayal for us to see what great sisters with had in one another, but thank you for giving that to me. Sure parents and grandparents and maybe most siblings are sick to their stomachs and wanted nothing more than their racer to NOT board that first plane. But as for me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I know that God works in the most mysterious ways and for Ashli and I, it meant 11 months of being countries apart.
