I was headed out the door on my way to the gym when she came downstairs in her pjs and crazy hair. She splayed herself on the couch, smiling at her late-rising indulgence, and stretched like a cat waking up from an afternoon nap in the sun.

I sat down across from her and at first didn’t know what to say. Sometimes, being the oldest, I act more like a mother than a sister. And sometimes I feel bad about that, but mostly I don’t. But I knew I’d pushed too far a couple days before when I challenged her to think a bit more about a decision she was making. So I felt I needed to tread lightly.

I took a step. She met me. I took another. And she met me again. And before we knew it, two hours had gone by while we’d been talking and laughing and discussing this new life of hers, complete with a new job, a new husband, a new apartment, new friends, and a new city.

I think sometimes, we joke so much about her “middle child syndrome” and her uncanny ability to always take the hard road, that we don’t say enough about her “hugest heart in the world syndrome” or her uncanny ability to always reach the top. She’s amazing, that one is.

She’s tender and kind, always fights for (or rescues, if need be) the underdog, and never judges anyone. She’s down right, honest-to-goodness funny. Oh mercy, is she funny. And while she’s stubborn as stubborn can be, I like to think of it more as “unwavering.” And when that steadiness is channeled for good, she is a force to be reckoned with. She’s probably got the best brain of the three of us and swims like a fish. Did I ever tell you she was the butterfly champ of Georgia when she was 10? Well, she was. She’s one pretty talented lady.

She forgets her worth sometimes and that makes me sad. Because really, I admire and adore every tiny bit of her.

And I know I’m not the only one.