Daisies

I helped her into bed, tucked her hair behind her ear, and kissed her tear-soaked face. “It’s going to be okay, little sissy. I love you.” She sniffled, smiled, and closed her eyes.

            I slammed my door, screamed into my pillow, and cursed her name. “Why don’t you do this, mom? I am not her parent!” I sniffled, grunted, and forced my eyes shut.

            That night I dreamt of her running through a field, picking daisies, and laughing while I chased after her. We collapsed in the grass, gasping for air, and then sat up and braided daisies through each other’s hair once we had caught our breath. But our mom wasn’t there, I was the only hand she had to hold and the only one to braid her long, blonde curls.

            As I lay in bed, screaming into my tear-soaked pillow, I heard a light knock on my door. A few moments later, I felt my mom’s warm hand brushing my hair from my face and drying my eyes. “Thank you for being such a good big sister. You have such a way with her. No matter how hard I try, sometimes she just needs to hear it from you.” I shut my eyes with a smile on my face, and dreamt of that same field, my mom in the middle with her right hand stretching towards me and her left, towards my sister. We all laughed and ran through the daisies, she helped us when we fell, and she meticulously threaded flowers into our plaited hair when we were unable to.