My younger sister, Jennifer, and I were born only 13 months apart. We shared everything growing up—clothes, toys, friends. We got married and moved into our own houses, but that didn’t keep our connection from growing even stronger. Our daughters were born two days apart. Jennifer is the first person I call whenever I need help. And she knows that she can always count on me.
One day last July, Jennifer and I were at our aunt’s house for a birthday party. No one noticed Jennifer’s two-year-old, Reagan, playing dangerously close to the swimming pool. Not until it was too late.
We pulled Reagan out and laid her beside the pool. She wasn’t breathing. Jennifer rushed to her daughter’s side. A neighbor performed CPR. “She’s going to be okay,” I told my sister.
Sirens blared and the paramedics rushed in. Jennifer climbed into the back of the ambulance. Without asking, I climbed into the front beside the paramedic. He took one look at my face and decided not to argue.
The whole ride to the hospital I watched Jennifer through the little window in the ambulance cab. Reagan had an oxygen mask on and a paramedic was leaning over her. My sister looked so scared. Lord, I wish I could be back there with her.
Reagan spent seven days in the hospital. By the time she was released, she had completely recovered.
A few weeks later I drove to my sister’s house to see Reagan. “I’ve never been so scared,” I told Jennifer as I held Reagan in my lap.
“Me neither,” Jennifer said. “The ambulance ride was the worst part. Thank God you were there to hold my hand.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I was sitting up front with the driver.”
Jennifer gave me a puzzled look. “No, Jana. You were right next to me. You kept patting my knee and telling me that everything would be okay.”
My sister and I stared at each other—speechless. I guess we’re even closer than we knew.
