Anxiously awaiting the arrival of my sister, I didn’t know what to expect. After not seeing her for two years, I could be certain of one thing, she was going to be different. Just how different, I wasn’t exactly sure.

Growing up, I wanted to be just like Lindsey. She had it all, she was pretty, popular, in the top ten percent of her class, a cheerleader. There wasn’t a thing she could do to make me think any less than highly of her.

In sixth grade, I finally received the privilege of knowing my sister; it was like things changed over night. She was the first person I went to when I needed advice or I had a secret to spill. The relationship I had always longed for with Lindsey was finally coming true, or at least I thought.

Even though I saw my sister as perfect, I knew she was actually quite rebellious; my preteen self just easily overlooked that fact. Drugs and alcohol were irrelevant at that age, they were things I had only heard about and was told to stay away from.

Our relationship became strained as Lindsey began her downward spiral. It seemed she was in and out of rehab at every moment, and my patience wore thin as she continually changed. I no longer looked forward to talking to her about my adolescent drama and struggles. I didn’t want to be a part of who she had become. I tried to avoid being in the same room as her as much as possible because when I was around her, my back tensed, my mouth formed a hard, thin line and it took everything in me to keep my opinions to myself.

Our strained relationship became almost nothing at all as I started high school. I hardly ever saw her because she didn’t live at home anymore. Of course I missed Lindsey—I’d find myself in her room often looking to borrow clothes, then would realize her closet was empty—but ultimately I felt more calm, more at ease when she wasn’t around.

This year, mid-September, I sat in terminal A of DFW, waiting for my sister’s layover flight on her way to New Mexico for yet another treatment facility. I hadn’t wanted to go, but for my mother’s sake and in the light of recent events I obliged. She came out of the gate with our older sister in tow, hugged my mom then looked at me, “What? No hug?” she asked.

I was frozen. It was almost as if the sister I had once known as a friend had faded completely. Lindsey looked worse than I remembered, her skin sallow and her once blonde hair now more of a mousy gray. She had always been tiny, never weighing more than 95 pounds, but she had gained weight in the two years since I had last seen her, now looking around 120. I gave her a slight smile, though I’m sure it looked more like a grimace, and held out my arms to her. A million thoughts raced through my head, but I held my tongue.

We sat by the luggage carousel, waiting for her flight to arrive. Lindsey and I threw sisterly-sarcastic remarks at each other and laughed hysterically about one of our favorite movies. Things began to seem so normal, like the Lindsey I knew and admired hadn’t completely vanished, like I could still get her back.

The hour and a half came and went, and too soon it was time for her to leave. I embraced Lindsey in a hug, put my mouth close to her ear and dropped my voice low enough so my mother couldn’t hear, “I love you, please be strong for me. I need you to be the big sister finally.”

I had never realized until that night just how much I needed to grow up. All this time I had thought so highly of myself because of the things I had learned not to do from my sister. For six years, I ignored the fact that my sister more or less needed me, and needed to be loved by me. The bitterness and anger I felt—still feel—is vanishing as I’ve finally accepted the fact that yes, loving Lindsey is going to be extremely difficult, but by forgiving her and looking forward to the future, I can establish the basis to build our relationship back on.