The First Best Friends We Forget to Treasure

The First Best Friends We Take for Granted

Siblings. They are the ones who steal our toys, hog the bathroom, drive us absolutely insane—and still, somehow, they are our first best friends.

They are the only people on this earth who have walked through the exact same childhood home, sat at the same dinner table, endured the same parents’ quirks and rules, and grown up tangled in the same messy, beautiful web of family. They know your origin story because they share it.

The truth is, when we’re young, we don’t always see it that way. We roll our eyes when they tag along. We snap at them for borrowing clothes, or for daring to breathe too loudly in our presence. We treat their constant presence as a nuisance instead of the gift it is. We assume they’ll always be there.

But life has a cruel way of teaching us how fleeting “always” really is.

The Sister Who Was More Than a Sister

I was six years older than my little sister. To me, she was the shadow that followed me everywhere, the pesky little tag-along who refused to stay in her lane. I thought of her as a burden of biology, someone I was forced to tolerate because of shared DNA.

But then we grew up.

Somewhere along the way, that “nuisance” became my confidant, my comedian, my anchor in the storms of adulthood. She was the one I called when life got too messy to sort out alone. The one who could crack a sarcastic joke at exactly the right moment. The one who loved my kids so fiercely we joked that she was their “other mother.”

She wasn’t just my sister anymore. She was my ride-or-die.

And then, at 26 years old, she was gone.

Cancer Stole Her, But Not Everything

Breast cancer came like a thief in the night. It stripped her strength, her spark, her body, until she was barely recognizable to the vibrant young woman she had been. For two years, I watched her slip further away, becoming a shell of herself. And then, finally, we lost her.

She was the middle child of five. The glue of our family. The backbone we didn’t realize was holding us all upright until she was gone. When she died, we all fell apart.

Sixteen years later, the grief still lingers like a phantom pain. I can still dial her number in my head. I can still hear her laugh—the sarcastic one that let me know I was being ridiculous. I can still see the look she gave me when I was stubborn, which was often.

And though she’s gone, I still feel her. In the whisper of the wind. In small miracles that defy explanation. In the reminders life sends me that she’s still, somehow, part of the story.

What She Taught Me About Family

If losing her taught me anything, it’s this: family is finite. We like to believe our siblings, our parents, our children will always be there. But “always” is a lie we tell ourselves to avoid facing the fragility of life.

The truth is, our siblings are treasures we often don’t recognize until it’s too late. They are the only people who will ever truly know us from beginning to end. The ones who understand not just where we came from, but why we are the way we are.

I’d give anything to go back and sit with that little sister who annoyed me, to soak in every second of her chatter, every eye roll, every laugh. Because I know now that those small, ordinary moments were the magic.

Don’t Wait to Appreciate Them

If you have a sibling, call them today. Text them. Hug them if you can. Even if they drive you crazy. Especially if they drive you crazy.

Because the things that annoy us most in the moment are the things we miss with aching hearts when they’re gone.

Life is fleeting. Family is fragile. Don’t wait to appreciate your first best friends.

✨ For my sister: forever my ride-or-die, even on the other side.