I come from (for lack of a better term) a ‘Brady Bunch’ family. I grew up super close to my siblings and now they are my best friends. I have great relationship with my parents and I always have. Everyone is always in each others business, everybody knows everything about each other and ‘I loves yous’ are given out like presents at Christmas.
My sister, Clare, is an amazing person. She is the type of person that says ‘Good Morning’ to strangers in the street and someone that you could call, day or night, and she would drop everything just to listen to you. I am in awe of her. I always have been.
Actually I’m pretty sure that growing up, my friends wanted to be her friend more than mine. I didn’t mind though, I liked it, it made me special for having the best sister going round. My sister is my person (Grey’s Anatomy term) I call her daily and I’m at her house constantly. When she gave birth to her son, my nephew, Rory, I was instantly over the moon in love. I had never felt love like that before.
Clare was (is) a great mum and I am constantly proud of her for what she achieves as a mum and a woman. I was so lucky to have Rory in my life and be given the opportunity to spend heaps of time with him. When he was first brought home from the hospital I was at their house more than my own and I even got to spend one night a week with him, while his parents slept. This was my favourite time. I felt so close to him, I think this time helped secure our bond. He was, and still is, my favourite person in this world. He is my reason to smile and be happy everyday.
So when I found out that my sister was expecting her second child, I was thrilled. Another baby to love, what could be better? The whole family was stoked, a sibling for Rory, another grandchild, another family member to spoil. But then at Clare’s 20 week scan, she found out that something was wrong with her baby’s heart. Something was very wrong.