The most beautiful voice in the world

I realized how dark it was in the auditorium and I was instantly reassured. Glancing around, it was obvious that the full choir was easy to disappear within on that high school stage.

I’ll tell you a small secret.

That night, as I stood among choir peers for the finale, I stopped singing. A practicing professional on that stage knows the show always goes on. Even if lines aren’t remembered, even if the soprano section all comes down with the flu. In fact even when the choir director had an emergency the following year, I filled in as conductor. Because the show always goes on.

But this night? I didn’t want the show to go on.

For the first and only time in my life I just stopped singing. No one in the audience noticed. I blended right in behind the large crowd who sang passionately about being friends forever.

My sister was in that choir. This was going to be the last song we sang together. The first in our family was about to go off to college. This moment was more for her and her friends anyway, I told myself, so I didn’t need to sing. That lump in my throat? That was probably just voice fatigue.

I love to sing. Often I sing or hum without a second thought. My mom happens to share this same trait, as well as my Dad’s mom. Music is a part of the family and no one shares love of spontaneous melody more so than my mother’s father, a Bing Crosby twin.

Yet there is only one woman with the most beautiful voice in the whole world: my sister.

I love her voice and I love her more than anything.

Oh we had our fair share of bickering growing up. She and I were very different, she often putting up with my group of friends while being the first in role modeling, makeup, crushes, piano teaching and the like.

It was she who encouraged me to compliment regular academic, math and science classes with music and arts. Beverly Hills 90210? Pushing parental rules outside of the norm? All the new and latest trends? She was on them. And thus, I was on them.

As a first born she does have that unspoken protective guard. Seem eye-rolling growing up? Not anymore. I love her for it. And I’m thankful I had it. She uses her voice not just in soprano but to teach, advise, share knowledge, offer support and provide encouragement.

I told you she has the most beautiful voice.

It’s not bias. It’s just the way it is and I proudly stand by it.

So standing there singing about how we’re always going to remain friends just didn’t sum it up. Sure, there was a lump in my throat and I didn’t want to sing. But even if I did, the words didn’t do the sentiment justice.

We’re not just friends. We’re sisters. All those days, months, years that I spent searching for myself (and we all still do) with old and new friends are meaningful. Of course, not all friends remain the same. Sisters always remain sisters though, don’t they?

She is mine, my older sister, and I love her. She is not my friend. She is my sister.

I remember the first time I saw her sing at church, the first time I saw her in a church play and the first time I saw her on a school stage. I felt so much pride. “That’s my sister, the one with the best voice and good looks.”

Friends may be forever, they certainly don’t widen or create friction among siblings or family, and they often provide a complimentary dynamic. Still, we struggle to find our place growing up. The thing is….we don’t have to struggle for place as sisters. It just is. There isn’t anyone who can take her place.

She is my older sister and I love her.

She never doubted this through all my friendships in grade school and high school. She never doubted this when we went off to college. She never doubted this even though at times we were total opposites. And she never doubted this through all the advice she gave me….even as she stood in my apartment and helped me pack up and move after a relationship end. Even as she put her arms around me knowing I needed it most.

She never even doubted this when I first came along three years after she, and we both had to share her birthday.

People often hear that we share a birthday and cry “that must be so terrible...you never had your own birthday.” They say it all the time actually. It surprises me every time I hear it, too. It never gets old.

I’ve always had my own birthday. It is awesome. And it just so happens my very own birthday is the same as my older sister’s. As in everything, even with these small details His eye is on the sparrow.

She has the firsts and she sets the beautiful examples. First to introduce us to her husband’s South African and English immigrant life? Awesome. First one to get married? Well, she is as amazing a wife and partner as one could as for. First pregnancy and delivery? I walked into the hospital room, met my niece and looked at my sister. I tell you, even then my sister managed as the most beautiful person in the room.

My niece instills that sense that one’s heart is literally going to overflow with love. She is that special and that essential. I held her a couple weeks after she was born. I sat in her little bedroom on a rocker, holding her, unable to describe just how truly incredible she was. Cradling her provided that definite moment. It was just she and I, and I silently contemplated if she was going to be as cheerful, kind, good hearted, bright and loving as my sister. She is. I wondered if I could ever put into words for her how much I admired and loved her mom. Probably not. Then I thought about standing on that stage years ago, discretely wiping away a few tears, contemplating and wanting to shout that sisters are more than friends. Friends are forever but sisters live through it together.

There are many, many amazing musicians in this world. Some of them are part of my extended family. Some of this family has even played for the White House.

But the most beautiful voice in the world belongs to one I love with all my heart: my sister.