Dear Sister,

I've wanted to call someone that my whole life.

Growing up, I wondered what it would feel like to have a sister. Someone down the hall who knew the same house, the same memories, the same versions of me. Someone I wouldn't have to start at the beginning with, because she'd been there, too.

As I got older, that wish grew up with me.

I wanted a sister I could call when being strong got heavy. Someone I could tell, "I'm having a hard day," without first explaining all the reasons I knew I should be grateful. Someone who could hear me crying and stay on the phone until I could talk.

I wanted to be that person for her, too.

The one who remembered the appointment. Who showed up with food. Who knew when "I'm fine" needed one more question.

And now, here I am, writing to you.

I don't know if you're reading this in a quiet house, in the school pickup line, or lying in bed next to someone you haven't figured out how to tell you're lonely. I don't know what you've lost or what you're trying so hard to hold together.

But I keep thinking you might have needed a sister, too.

Maybe you have sisters and still feel alone. Maybe the woman you used to call first is gone. Maybe you've spent so much of your life taking care of everyone that you're not even sure what you'd say if someone finally asked how you were.

You can start here. It doesn't have to sound pretty.

I'm writing these letters because there are things I wish someone had told me sooner. Things I'm still learning to believe. And if putting words to my life helps you feel a little less alone in yours, I want to keep writing.

Some letters will come from places that still hurt. Some will make us laugh, because, sister, we cannot cry through this entire thing. And some days, all I'll have to give you is the reminder I needed myself that morning.

I wish I could sit across from every one of you. I wish I could learn the names of the people you miss, hear the dream you're almost afraid to say out loud, and see the pictures you pull up when you talk about your children.

For now, I have this page.

And you're here.

I don't take that lightly.

I asked God for a sister long before I knew any of your names. Now, when I pray for the women finding their way here, I wonder how long He's been answering.

So pull up a chair, sister. There's room for you here.

Love,
Sara

P.S. Thank you for being here. It means the world ❤️