Dear Jackie: A Sisterhood in 40 Letters

One may as well begin with Jackie’s letters to her sister. (That’s me!)

This line is a spin on the opening line of the literary classic novel Howards End by E.M. Forrester which is: “One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister.”

I don’t think Forrester will mind that I borrowed it. You see, my younger sister Jackie turns 50 this week. I will, of course, celebrate her in all the usual ways—a handwritten birthday card, nostalgic photos, a gift along the lines of something warm and cuddly to wear. But mostly, I will celebrate her in the way I’ve always known her best: through her words.

If someone had asked me—before my deep dive into the hundreds of letters I’ve saved—how many letters Jackie had written to me in our younger years, I would have confidently guessed five. Maybe ten, if I was feeling generous. But because I saved everything (a habit that now feels like a mix of brilliance and mild hoarding), I know the truth: Jackie has written me 40 letters. Forty. That’s practically a novel, one written over time (1987-1993 to be exact), bridging her adolescence and young adulthood.

The first letters appear when she’s in middle school, scribbled from summer camp. They are filled with the kinds of urgent updates that only a 12-year-old can deliver: the girls in her cabin (mostly nice, one mean), the food (always terrible), and the waterfront (free of muck).

From Jackie to Felice, July 14, 1987

Then come the high school years, when I was away at college, and Jackie’s letters take on a different tone. They are about boys she likes, how her friends understand her in ways our parents never could (classic teenage wisdom), and her relentless dedication to studying (all those A’s were no accident). She often asks for my advice—about SATs, about playing sports, and about whether she should take a particular class. Most importantly, she always wants to know what I think. About everything.

From Jackie to Felice, October 6, 1989

Then there are her letters from Washington, D.C., when she spent a semester of her junior year of high school as a United States Senate Page. These are tinged with homesickness at first, but soon transition into excitement about the people she’s meeting (Senator Ted Kennedy), what she’s experiencing (“I am floor Page today. I hang out on the House floor and deliver only in the Capitol.”), and how she feels (“Tomorrow I will be 17. Isn’t that crazy?”). It’s a kind of growing up on paper.

From Jackie to Felice, February 18, 1992

And then, when she follows in my footsteps to UMass Amherst, there are letters where she marvels at how hard it must have been for me to leave because she loves it there so much.

Reading them all now, I see more than just ink on paper. I see the evolution of a sister, a confidante, a friend. I see a girl becoming a young woman, navigating the world with curiosity and drive. I see how much she looked up to me—not just in asking for advice, but in the way she trusted me with her thoughts, her worries, and her triumphs. And maybe most striking of all, I see how much she has always been, at her core, exactly who she is today: thoughtful, determined, intelligent, and deeply connected to the people she loves.

From Jackie to Felice, November 18, 1993

I’m not sure if Jackie has saved my letters in return. I don’t think she has, but that’s okay. Because as much as I treasure the ones she wrote to me, the real gift is that she wrote them at all. That she wanted to share her life with me, even when she was busy living it. That she let me in.

So, on her 50th birthday, I want to say this: Jackie, I have loved every word. And I will keep them always—just like I will keep you, my sister, my forever pen pal, my friend.

With love (and the residual guilt for asking Mom and Dad to return you a week after they brought you home from the hospital),

Felice

P.S. WEEKLY WRITING LETTER PROMPT
Ever wish you’d spoken up in a certain situation? Now’s your chance. Share something you always meant to say to someone but never got around to. Not to worry, you don’t have to mail this letter (though you may). This is about YOU getting something off your chest. You can start by writing: “I never told you this, but…”

SONG OF THE WEEK
I just discovered this song and love it! Postcard from Heaven by LightHouse Family. Enjoy!

Felice Cohen is an award-winning author, known nationally and internationally for living in one of the world’s smallest apartments. She wrote Half In: A Coming-of-Age Memoir of Forbidden Love (endorsed by Rita Mae Brown), 90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet (...and More) (inspired by her viral YouTube video with 25+ million views), and What Papa Told Me (endorsed by Elie Wiesel). Felice is a sought-after speaker, inspiring others through her books and talks. Find her at felicecohen.com.