Karen: Fierce, Fourth, Forever My Sister

There was never a doubt, Karen and I were night and day, sun and moon, storm and still water. She is the “Ying” to my “Yang,” the thunder to my breeze. Three years older, three inches taller, and always three steps ahead, Karen was fire. Quick-witted, quick-tempered, and never afraid to tell it like it is, whether the truth was kind or not. She could read something once and remember it forever. Me? I needed flashcards, soft music, and snacks to remember what day it was.

Growing up, we were Momma’s dolls, dressed alike in matching dresses like twins who couldn’t have been more different. Karen was built stronger, her long silky hair brushing past her shoulders like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. My hair? Thick, coarse, and always a bit rebellious, just like the cowlick I could never tame. I was a scrawny kid with a big smile, eager to please. She was confident and never needed anyone’s approval, except maybe Daddy’s.

Karen was Daddy’s favorite. No question about it. He doted on her like she hung the moon, and she soaked it in like sunshine. I used to wonder what it felt like to be the favorite, to be someone's darling. But I never resented her. If anything, I wanted to be like her, bold, unshakable, unforgettable.

One time, when we were little, she broke her leg. Daddy carried her around everywhere, on his shoulder like a prized possession. I watched in awe, not just of his tenderness, but of her. Even when she was hurt, she had this spark. Karen could be naughty and nice at the same time, and I was always amazed at that. She'd roll her eyes one minute and charm the room the next. It wasn’t just me, most people admired her for that quick wit and that unfiltered candor. She made no apologies, and somehow, it worked.

When Momma and Daddy split, we ended up living with him for a year. That year felt like ten. His new wife and her children didn’t like us. And by “didn’t like,” I mean they made it their mission to make us feel small. The bruises on our hearts took years to fade. They didn’t mess with Karen too much, she was loud and quick to bite back. Me? I was easier prey. But when the bullying got too bad, Karen became my shield. We didn’t always say “I love you,” but in those days, we were each other’s shelter. That was love.

High school sent us down separate paths. Karen was already living her grown-up life before she turned seventeen. A pregnancy at sixteen will do that to a girl. She was fierce, proud, and stunning in her sequined Grenadier Guard uniform, stomping across the football field with sass and sparkle. Me? I was tucked into the band bleachers with my B-flat clarinet, sweating bullets and praying I wouldn’t squeak a note.

I’ll never forget the day she came to pick me up from school. She rolled into the parking lot like a hurricane, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping a slice of pizza, her delivery sign glowing on top of the car. A group of boys thought they were clever, mouthing off and calling her names. Karen didn’t flinch. She slammed the brakes, flung the car door open, and threw that entire pizza right in their faces, toppings, box, and all. “You got something to say now?” she yelled, cussing like a sailor. I wanted to melt into the pavement. But deep down... I wasn’t surprised. That was Karen. Embarrassing? Yes. But brave? Always.

She and Momma used to butt heads like two bulls in a pasture. But I think that was because Karen never sugar-coated anything, and Momma wasn’t used to being challenged. I used to smile to myself watching them go at it, both stubborn, both sure they were right. Still, there was love buried under all that fire.

Karen became a nurse, and she’s never looked back. She still has an amazing career today, respected, trusted, and admired. People feel safe with her in charge. I mean, I always did... so why wouldn’t everyone else? Whether it’s a crisis or just a moment of panic, she has this way of taking the lead like it’s second nature.

We’ve had our seasons of silence, years when we didn’t talk much, life pulling us in different directions. But even now, when the world feels too heavy or the memories press too hard on my heart, I think of her. My sister. My firecracker. My opposite. And I remember that once, in a hard year filled with shadows, we were each other’s light.

If I ever need a protector or advice, she’s the one I turn to.

Always has been. Always will be.