My Sunflower by Ellie Quiroz

    My sunflower, weathering the storms that would try to bend her, with golden petals
kissed by the sun, and a strength that helped her stand tall. My sunflower—my sister—with her
golden, bronzed, glowing skin, her beautiful assortments of locks of swirls and spirals, but most
of all her stern façade that tends to conceal her gentle heart.

    My earliest memories of my relationship with my sister revolve around the moments we
shared together. Our conversations were always easy as our paths growing up were very similar.
Whether it was sports, drawing, or the chaos unfolding within our household, we always had
something in common. However, I subconsciously chose to forget certain parts of my childhood,
and with that came the loss of memories I had with my sister.

    I like to think we have always been as close as we are now. I imagine us tumbling
through the freshly cut green grass, blades clinging to our sweat glistened skin, the warm sent of
dirt, and sunshine wrapped around us like a warm embrace. I imagine making everything a
competition, just like we do now. I imagine the sleepover’s we always had in each other’s rooms,
where we would laugh so hard we felt it in our stomachs, and tears slipped down our faces. We
always tried to be as quiet as possible but failed every time. Oftentimes, waking up to our parents
asking, “What was so funny last night?” I like to imagine all of these things as if our relationship
has always had this bond, but part of me fears it wasn’t always this way.

    Even though my memories with my sister are faded like the sun covered by the clouds, I
still remember the way I felt watching her as I grew up. I remember how people would stop and
watch her play volleyball. The moment she stepped onto the glossy hardwood, the world
seemingly froze. The crowd would gaze in awe, as if they have never seen anything so beautiful.
The humid gym air gripping to her sweat, shimmering like liquid gold across her skin. She
moved with the grace and precision of a dancer, each move reflecting years of dedication, yet I
didn’t see the beauty in it. Playing the same sport as your record-breaking sister is not easy. A
tangled web of destructive emotions— jealousy, pride, and the unbreakable thought of “I need to
be better,” settled into my chest. I needed to be the flower that always got picked from the
garden. The expectation for success weighed heavy upon my shoulders as my standards began to
conform.

    I always thought sunflowers were perennial. Yet, as time passed something happened to my
sunflower. Her petals wilted, and her stem no longer stood strong. As if she was decomposing
before my eyes. My unbreakable sister, crumpled on the floor as she gasps for air, her fingers
digging into her arms as if trying to hold herself together. Her once radiant skin became ghostly,
and as I blinked my sunflower had lost its golden glow. The sobs that raged from her body were
unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Raw, unfettered grief pouring out in waves. That moment—the
moment that made her unable to sleep alone every again, is forever branded into my memory.
Nothing could have prepared me for the the weight of the yoke I watched her carry. You can
never prepare for the burden of emotions that come from losing a cousin and best friend; the one
who walked by your side. It was like she lost her legs and was trying to learn how to walk again.
As I was trying to get her to eat, I watched her drift into silent solitude, where her words carried
the weight of memories too painful to speak. Her smiles now forced, her laugh now brittle, and her presence now dimmed. I would try to get her back, but sometimes grief is a language spoken
in silence.

    For a while I thought I would never find my sister in the storm that consumed her.
Whenever I got close, she pulled away, erecting walls I didn’t know how to break. Those walls
led me to wonder what I would be like if I didn’t have her. I think about the nights when I would lie alone in my room, clutching my curls so tightly fearing they would straighten, tears cooling my flushed cheeks. I think about how she held me, rocking me back and forth, whispering words of comfort as three voices clashed in another room, a storm brewing between the walls. The sharp scent of alcohol clung to the air, weaving through the vents. I remember her searching for her keys so we could leave. I opened my drawer only to find a slim wine bottle and my shorts deep red, knowing it wasn’t ours, knowing it hadn’t been there before. I process these moments from the past and wonder— what if I had been alone? What if she hadn’t been there to hold me steady through my storm?

    All of these “what ifs” that circled through my mind are the reason I traced my way back
to her, like roots searching for water. I sat with her in quiet, filling the silence with a steady and
unwavering presence. No words could mend what had been broken, but in the stillness, in the
shared breaths, I hoped she felt the steadiness of my love holding her. I learned when to push and when to simply be there, and slowly I saw my sunflower bloom again. Little does she know, her scariest moment was mine too. I feared losing her to something I couldn’t fight, something I
could never fix. While watching her fall apart, I realized that strength does not mean standing tall alone. In moments I sat beside her, silent and steady, showing up until the storm passes is what she needed over a hug or a simple “I love you.”

    Coming to realize that our relationship came to life because of a tragedy was never ideal. But
maybe it didn’t start there. Maybe we have always been this close, and I just don’t remember.
What I do know is the joyful memories that have followed— our late night Target runs, music
blasting, sunroof open, voices breaking as we try to sing. For those ten minutes, nothing else
matters. Selfishly, I am grateful she cannot sleep alone. It means more late night talks, more
laughter, more moments that will turn into stories we will tell again and again. It means I am a
source of comfort to her, blooming my heart to the sun like a sunflower. Or maybe, just maybe it
means both.

    Years have passed, and we have grown, blossoming into our own lives. My roots began to
expand as I left for college, and she moved in with her boyfriend. While these changes brought
overwhelming joy, others carried a quiet ache. I found a new source of water, which nourished
the new life I was building, but the excitement of my wedding day became shadowed by the
knowledge that I would soon be 730 miles away from my sunflower. The thought of our
spontaneous late night car rides turning into scheduled phone calls made my chest tighten.
Sleepovers would require plane tickets. I would no longer hear her contagious belly laugh
everyday. We wouldn’t be able to communicate with just a glance anymore. Distance stretched
between us like an ocean.

    Although, everything has changed, one thing has remained the same—the daily calls to share
exciting news, vent, or to simply say “hey” showed our continuous need for one another.
Although we have our separate lives. She is my sunflower, with her radiant warmth stretching
towards the sky. But maybe I am the roots, anchoring her to the earth, unseen but always there,
expanding yet entwined in a bond that even time and distance can not sever.

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