And So Will I...

As I look up at the stars, I remember. When I turned seventeen, when everything started to go wrong, she sat me down. It was one o’clock in the morning. I was crying hysterically and in shock, but she was the calmest I’d ever seen her. It confused me. How could she be? After the news we just received? But she held me close, rested her head on my shoulder and pointed towards the sky. 

“Look. Look how beautiful it is.” She was right, it was beautiful. But I still didn’t know why she was telling me this. “There’s the brightest one. Right there. Right above your head.” My eyes followed her finger to the brightest spot, twinkling from far away. “Do you remember how the Lion King used to be our favourite film as kids?” I’m sure we wore the DVD out having watched it so many times. “Do you remember when Mufasa said to Simba: ‘Look at the stars. The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. Yes. So whenever you feel alone, just remember those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I.’ And so will I.” And I sat there, frozen tears stuck to my cheeks and beginning to itch and stared at her, wide eyed and open mouthed. Suddenly, in that one split second, it all made sense. This was her way of reminding me that though she would no longer be there, she would always be watching and looking down on me. She would be my brightest star. The one I looked up to for hope and reassurance, and to this day, five years later, that is what I’ve always done. 

My older sister was a good person. Intelligent, funny, sound. She spent her life helping other people. First when we were kids and she was the only one there for me when my dad left us and my mother died of a drug overdose. She was there, waiting at the school gates every day. We walked to Daniel Roeback’s, the local ice cream parlour. She would have a caramel and hazelnut ice cream, every time without fail. I would choose between mint choc chip or raspberry ripple, depending on how I felt that day. There may have been a ten year difference between us, but we had such a close bond. A deep connection that ran through us like electricity through a wire. We would come home after eating so much ice cream we felt like we could burst. She would sit me down at the kitchen table and work through whatever homework the teacher had set that day, together. I adored the way her eyes lit up every time I got a question right. The sharp intake of breath and the pride she felt when I worked out a hard maths puzzle or came home with an A for my English essay. 

She was a teacher herself. Had barely made it past her second year as a fully qualified history teacher. She worked at the secondary I attended. I thought it would be awkward and embarrassing to have your sister be one of your teachers, but I found it to be the exact opposite. She was a breath of fresh air in what was otherwise a depressing and miserable place. I thought I would get bullied for having her there, but I was revered instead. Everyone adored her, was mesmerised by her, staff and students alike. The majority of teachers in thier tweed and ties either hated life or were close to retiring and kicking the bucket. She was so vastly different from them in every good way possible that it was hard not to love her. 

We would repeatedly watch old Disney films. Cinderella, Snow White, The Little Mermaid and of course our favourite, The Lion King, again and again. We never got bored. We got so much enjoyment out of these fantastical, mysterious worlds that took us so far away from our own that we didn’t need to think about death or abandonment or hate. We knew every line of by heart. Every lyric, which we both sang to the top of our lungs, enthusiastically and without mercy, the neighbours likely stuffing their ears with thier fingers to avoid hearing ‘Under The Sea’ for the billionth time. She was tone deaf and she knew it, but she didn’t care. ‘Hakuna Matata’ would be slaughtered, but we sure would have a good time doing it. 

I remember one year, we went on holiday. She’d gone with some of her uni friends, but I was allowed to tag along as there was no-one she could have left me with. She could have called me the annoying little kid who was interfering and getting in the way whilst she was trying to have a good time with her pals, but she didn’t. She could have left me out and ignored me, but that never happened. She made me feel special. Included. Like I was wanted. We sat around the campfire one evening, the mellow melody to ‘Chasing Cars’ floating smoothly in the background. Her friends sat around us clutching beer bottles and cider cans, but she didn’t. My mother for one was too much of a bad influence and my sister was determined not to go down that road. But also she didn’t want to get drunk in front of me. What if something happened? What if someone got hurt? What would she do then? She always knew what was best for me and I always appreciated it. 

Then came the day. She had been feeling unwell for a while and things weren’t getting better. She very suddenly took a turn for the worse and was incredibly quickly diagnosed with a fierce form of cancer. It was terminal. The night I found out, I was in hysterics. I was going to lose her. The one person in this cruel, toxic world that I could rely on. She was going to be ripped away from me, just like my mother was, like my father was, and I would be alone. 

But, as always, she knew what to do. She pointed to the sky and quoted the Lion King. My sister was taken from me physically but I still know to this day, five years later, that she’s up there somewhere, the brightest star in the sky, looking down on me. 

I lie back and look up. I know you’re there, twinkling, still going strong. And I still love you.