Growing up, it was always my little sister, the first one born that is, and me against the world. Partners in mischief, adventurers in imagination, and protectors of each other in ways only we understood. Despite the age difference between us, we were inseparable. She was my fearless baby sister, bold in her chaos, and I was the one keeping watch—when I wasn’t diving into the chaos with her, of course or well annoying me as baby sisters will do.
Take, for instance, that legendary day we tried to “roast marshmallows” in the backyard. Did we have actual marshmallows? Nope—we thought cereal marshmallows would do just fine. Armed with a magnifying glass, we crouched behind the wild lilac tree, trying to set the grass on fire in secret. She thought it was brilliant, I thought it was genius, and our mother thought it was lunacy when she discovered us. Grass isn’t great for roasting, as it turns out.
Our bunk beds were another cornerstone of childhood memory. I claimed the top bunk—the ladder wasn’t quite her thing—and she had the cozy larger bottom bunk. Together, we’d drape blankets to build forts that transported us into the worlds of our favorite books. There we imagined ourselves as heroes, adventurers, and, of course, Power Rangers. She always picked the Yellow Ranger (her favorite) while I embodied the Red Ranger, and together we fought monsters and saved the world from the safety of those forts.
Her running phase was another story altogether. She didn’t just walk—she ran everywhere, from her crib to the patio, and occasionally straight into walls. The patio incident is a classic example—she ran right off the edge, and her poor big toe got the worst of it. That toe had no shortage of adventures, like the time she tried pulling the TV off the fireplace ledge and it landed squarely on it. I rushed to her rescue, trying to lift it off while she cried, but let’s be honest, it took the parents to save the day.
Our adventures weren’t limited to mischief, though. Some moments were nothing short of magical. I still remember sneaking into her nursery at night, holding her little hand through the crib rail, and singing softly to her. I’d hum familiar lullabies and invent my own melodies—ones I now as I write this realize included Cree words. Even then, our bond felt sacred, timeless.
We played “cops and robbers” on the giant rock in the yard—dangerous by any standard—and spent hours playing in the hidden section of the backyard where our swing set stood. That spot, invisible from the house windows, was a haven for wild games. How we didn’t break ourselves on that swing set remains one of life’s great mysteries.
There were sweeter (and sourer) lessons, too. Like the chokecherry bush Grandma used to harvest for jelly. One day, we thought it’d be a great idea to taste the berries straight off the bush—big mistake. That bitterness stuck with us for hours, no matter how much water we drank. Oh, and the time we snuck into Dad’s office and opened his guitar case? We spent ages marveling at it before we got caught. Sure, we got into trouble, but that moment sparked a lifelong longing in me to learn the guitar.
Even during darker times—like when our parents fought—I tried to shield her from the chaos. I’d take her upstairs, where we’d play “the floor is lava” or another game to distract ourselves. We crafted good memories out of bad moments, finding light together when everything else felt dark. Turns out I was not just shielding my baby sister from the yuck in life, but she was shielding me as well—just by being her. My desire to protect her shaped me more than I realized. She made me the woman I am today, simply by being there, accepting me, and embracing all my oddness. As I write this, it’s clear she guided me in becoming a good person—not through lectures, but through our fun times and, well, our adventures.
A Bond Reforged in Adulthood
Adulthood came quickly and chaotically. I left home before I was 18, in a way that was anything but gentle. It was an abrupt escape, a necessary step to find safety and space. Eventually, I found myself living hours away in a city far removed from the small town where our grandparents lived. Yet, even during this time of upheaval, my bond with my sister remained a constant thread in my life.
When I visited our grandparents while I lived in their town for a bit, I still got to see her, and those moments were a balm for my soul. Despite the weight of adulthood on my shoulders, being with her had a way of dissolving my worries. We found joy in the simplest things, like baking with Grandma. The kitchen would transform into a whirlwind of flour, sticky dough, and laughter. Grandma, ever the enabler of our mischief, from moment one and even today. She let us get away with far more than the parental units ever would. Grandpa had his own way of spoiling us, handing us each a can of pop—a rare treat that felt like pure rebellion.
Even though I was technically an adult and she was still a preteen, our connection never faltered. We’d curl up together to watch TV, or we’d each grab a spot—me on the couch, her on the love seat—and lose ourselves in our individual books. Yet, even in those quiet moments, there was an unspoken bond, a shared comfort in simply being together. Sometimes, nostalgia would take over, and we’d crawl under the fold-up table, draping it with blankets to create forts like we did as kids. We’d dig into Dad’s old toys stored at Grandma’s, letting our imaginations run wild once more. It was as if no time had passed, no matter how much life had changed.
What she doesn’t realize is that during this time, as a young mom trying to navigate the chaos of life, she gave me something invaluable: the freedom to screw up without fear of judgment. As I was figuring out the balance of parenting, life, and everything in between, she was there with her unwavering presence. Somehow, her acceptance of me, even when she playfully lectured, became a safe space I didn’t know I needed. She grounded me, kept me from spiraling, and guided me more than she’ll ever understand. I wanted to make her proud, and that desire became a compass for me. Even when I felt lost, the thought of not being a good role model for her kept me steady, kept me striving to be better.
Then I moved further away, needing space to heal and figure out who I was outside of the chaos I had left behind. It wasn’t a decision made lightly, but rather one born of necessity—a way to survive, to breathe, to reclaim myself. In creating that space, though, I unintentionally created distance—not just in miles, but in emotions. It strained our bond in ways I didn’t fully comprehend then. Without the comfort of her daily presence, her laughter, and our shared adventures, something felt missing. Yet even in the solitude of my new life, she remained with me, not physically but in the warmth of memories that rose to the surface when I needed them most.
When the shadows of my past threatened to consume me, those childhood memories served as a lantern, casting light into the darkest corners of my mind. I’d think of us roasting cereal marshmallows in the backyard, believing in our genius until the moment our mother discovered us. That memory always brought a smile, a reminder of the carefree, creative spirit we shared. And then there were our bunk beds, draped in blankets to create magical forts. I could practically hear her little voice declaring herself the Yellow Ranger while I took on the mantle of the Red. Those adventures, real only to us, reminded me of a time when life was simpler—when our world was small but full of possibility.
When I was breaking apart into thousands of pieces I thought often of the way she’d run—not walk, but run—through life, fearless and determined, even if it meant colliding with walls or falling off patios. Her enthusiasm, her sheer zest for existence, made her a light in my memories. I would picture her tiny hand clutching mine when we crossed the yard to that giant, hazardous rock we loved to climb. Despite the danger, it was a symbol of our shared bravery and trust in each other. Those moments replayed in my mind like a highlight reel of joy and resilience, reminding me of the love and strength we had built together. Reminding me I could get through this.
I eventually moved back home and our bond started to rebuild. It was strained because I had cut contact with everyone not on purpose for some, others it was. I was lost. Yet when I needed a hug she always knew it and gave it to me, she still accepted me and my oddness.
One day stands out as a turning point—the last fight I ever had with my baby sister. She was there to put an end to it, her unwavering strength shining through. Another of our sisters stepped up that day, too, ensuring I had my service dog beside me, cleaning away the Kleenex I’d used, and bringing me water. Between the two of them and my pup, they cared for me in a way I’ll never forget. I was in rough shape, locked in a state of selective mutism and rocking—a rare stim for me—but they made me feel safe, accepted, and cared for without an ounce of judgment. My sister, the one who’s been the light of my life, was the first to stand up for me, just as she always has. She refused to let the situation spiral further, showing the same fierce protectiveness that has defined her for as long as I can remember.
Recently just a few months ago, in a conversation with her, that something profound shifted within me. I’m not sure what triggered it, but I decided to stop the cycle of self-criticism in my mind. I downloaded an app called I Am, which sends daily reminders like “I am worthy of my own acceptance.” That single action—taking a small step toward self-rebuilding—was sparked by her. Her words, her presence, her unwavering belief in my worth reminded me that I deserved to heal after the torment of past relationships. I can not recall what we were talking about but I know it was unrelated but it still triggered that desire to be better, this time she was my role model.
Even when some of these memories are tied to darker times, the moments she was part of shine brightly, even if they were just memories of our times together. They’ve become the good memories, the ones I hold onto and can smile about. Funny enough, this reminds me of a teaching from the reserve: forgive as soon as you can—not for their sake, but for your own. “You’re not anyone’s bellhop, so don’t carry their issues.” Someone once told me this with a unique flair, and while their words were true, my sister’s way of putting it resonates more. She once told me and I paraphrase, “The shadows of the past can feel overwhelming when you’re alone with your thoughts, but holding onto the good moments—the laughter, the happiness—is what truly matters. It’s not about ignoring reality; it’s about choosing not to let it define you.” Her wisdom became a lifeline, pulling me closer to a life of light and balance and reminding me of lessons that I had pushed away recently. Like smudging each day, remembering to look for the good in things that look dark. While it is good to process and remember them, it is important to focus on the good ones. My kid sister has grown up to be a bright and very wise young woman and the person I turn to now because our bond is so unique and strong. Distance no longer matters, we still have our talks randomly and they are ones I adore having with her no matter what the topic is.
It’s one of my greatest desires and honors to one day bring her to the reserve, to show her this place that holds such profound lessons during a powwow. It is through our memories, and her being there for me that kept me sane at times, and brave enough to go to the rez and start learning. Some of the lessons she has been part of me learning through life are echoed there and one day I ache to have the honor of sharing with her a place where I feel at home, just as she is home to me. I long to share this special part of me, that I do not share with many. In the way of going out there. After all, if she did not help me become who I am today would I have ever started going to the rez and finding that freedom?
One day stands out as a turning point—the last fight I ever had with our youngest sister that will always break my heart because this started the series of events that lead to me having to cut her from my life and it aches every single day yet I now have the strength to stand by boundaries I set, at least when it is the most important. Maybe one day this sister and I will find a way back to each other, however I am not sure it is possible with what she has done Anyway during that fight the sister I grew up with from the time I was six, the one I was baptized with, she was there to put an end to it, her unwavering strength shining through. Another of our sisters stepped up that day, too, ensuring I had my service dog beside me, cleaning away the Kleenex I’d used, and bringing me water. Between the two of them and my pup, they cared for me in a way I’ll never forget. I was in rough shape, locked in a state of selective mutism and rocking—a rare stim for me—but they made me feel safe, accepted, and cared for without an ounce of judgment. My sister, the one who’s been the light of my life, was the first to stand up for me, just as she always has. She refused to let the situation spiral further, showing the same fierce protectiveness that has defined her for as long as I can remember. They both kept telling me it was okay and to take my time. My kid sister taught our other kid sister pretty well I would say. Anyway I am trying to keep this post positive so lets keep going.
On the darkest day of my life, she was there, and the distance that had formed when I moved away disappeared entirely. We’re back to having that special bond, one that feels like a lifeline in a world that isn’t always kind. I also gained a brother that night. It’s a bond of trust, where even in the hardest times, she can bring a smile to my face. It took a long time for a smile to come from that night but it is there now a bitter sweet one but a smile none the less. A fond memory in the darkness. She has a priceless gift—one that’s carried me through countless storms. Together, we share a rare freedom—the kind that comes from trusting someone with everything and knowing that trust is cherished and safe.
To this day, my sister is my rock. She’s the one person I trust with my pen name, this website, and every vulnerable part of myself. As an autistic person, trust and safety don’t come easily, but with her, they always have. She’s my shield, my safe harbor, my forever ally. She got me through the worst night of my life, and every moment since. Even though she’s far away now, I still feel like she’s right here beside me.
I used to think I had to protect her from the darkness we grew up in, but she’s become my protector in ways I never expected. That bond we share defies age, distance, and time—it’s stronger than ever, filled with laughter, love, and a lifetime of shared memories. I know our memories differ in areas and that is something I am grateful for. She will learn them here if she chooses to though on many levels I hope she does not go into the ones she would not have faced herself. I am still her big sister and want to protect her from that darkness and trust me I have not even started going into those dark times, I have made a small scratch. However if my baby sister can protect me, then she has the strength to face that darkness if she chooses. There are about five people who know I am Siearra Frost, she is the only one related to me that knows. I made a choice today, that I will hide nothing from her, it may take me time to go to her but if she can make me smile even if it is years later in regards to the night my daughter passed from this world then she is the one who can help me through any storm I may face. I hope she will do the same with me or does the same already. She is not just my blood family but my heart family, my chosen family as well.
So, to my sister since I know I will send you a link to this post—to you, my light, my guide, my protector, and my anchor—I say this with all my heart and soul: Thank you. I love you, baby girl. You are not just my sister; you are part of me, woven into every corner of who I am today. You are the one I trust with my pen name and this website because I know you will protect it as fiercely as you’ve always protected me. Thank you for being you—more than I could ever ask for.
I hope I get this next part right lol forgive me if I don’t for those who speak Cree lol feel free to help me out. It just feels right to do for this part.
Cree (SRO):
SRO (Standard Roman Orthography)
Nânitawê êkwa nânâtawê nâkîk kâ-isi-ayâyahtayâhk ê-wîskotêk ê-osihtêyâhk nêhiyawêwin. Kinanâskomitin ôhi mâmâhtâwiyêkan, kâ-nêtâhk âsay kâ-waskâhkâniyikêwin êkosi minik kâ-ôsîhtâmihtêcihk.
“Nânitawê êkwa nânâtawê nâkîk kâ-isi-ayâyahtayâhk ê-wîskotêk ê-osihtêyâhk nêhiyawêwin. Kinanâskomitin ôhi mâmâhtâwiyêkan, kâ-nêtâhk âsay kâ-waskâhkâniyikêwin êkosi minik kâ-ôsîhtâmihtêcihk. Kinanâskomitin, nikîsiskwêw. Kâ-miyikwêwin kâ-wîkiw âtayohkew awîyâhk; kâ-isi-ayâyan niya awa tipiyaw. Kîkway kâ-kî-ayâyan, tâpiskô kâ-nâtôtêyan nîtoskên. Nîkaskîtan niyakâw kâ-ayâyan takîkî kâ-ayânân âsiskîhtaw. Kitinikêyihtam mâna nîtawâsinikîsimîyân êkwa ka-kî-pimâtinêyân êwakohk kâ-osîhtamân mino-pimâtisiwin nîtawâsimê. Êkosi mâka awa kâ-wî-ayâwak awa îkâ-isi-miyîwikaw kâ-tipiskwâw nistêsikaw ayisk mîna niskwew-wîko, kitihkisiyân kâ-nitaskî. Kitinikêyihtam ê-kî-nipahât nîtawâsimê; ê-wîpisonk ê-âhkamêyimâwak otâhk kâ-nîmihitocik wâwâhtêwak, kâ-kî-sôhkêyiwak kâ-ohci-kakwêhitocik wiyâsa kâ-mâmâhtâwik. Wâwâhtêwak kâ-nîmihitocik kâ-ohci-kakwêhitamok êkota kâ-ohci-miywêyitamok, ê-ohci-wiyikoyak kitaskîwin êkwa kêhtê-ayak. Kitinikêyihtam ê-kî-wîsîhkêyimôt kâ-ohci-waniskâwât kâ-isi-pimâtisiyân awa wiyân, êkâ-kâ-âhkamêtin êwako ka-mîna âhkamêyân pîhtokwâmak.”
Approximate English Translation:
Although I am still learning my language and had help putting this together, it comes from the depths of my heart and carries the respect I hold for the Spirits and my teachings. These words reflect what I feel and what I honor in my journey.
“Although I am still learning my language and had help putting this together, it comes from the depths of my heart and carries the respect I hold for the Spirits and my teachings. These words reflect what I feel and what I honor in my journey.
Thank you, my little sister. You are the one who brings healing and light to my life; you are woven into the fabric of who I am today. For all that you have been and for the trust and love you have shown me, I am forever grateful. After my daughter joined the great dance in the sky that we see as the northern lights, her spirit shines with the ancestors, guiding me with the strength and beauty of the aurora borealis. In Cree teachings, the northern lights are seen as the spirits dancing joyfully in the sky—a connection between the physical and spiritual realms. Through her light, I find the courage to continue my own journey and honor her memory.
You guided me back to myself, back to smudging, and back to learning who I am through the deepest darkness. You gave me the strength to find my home within my tribe and my place in life once more. Smudging is a sacred act in Cree culture, using sacred herbs to cleanse the mind, body, and spirit, and to reconnect with the Creator and the ancestors. You brought me back to the drum, the heartbeat of our people, which connects us to life, renewal, and spirituality. I trust you with all I am—mind, body, heart, and spirit—because I know you guard that trust as fiercely as a wolf protects her cubs.
To speak Cree is not just to use words, but to honor the Creator, the ancestors, and the land; it is to embody the Spirit in every sound. Though this teaching may be unfamiliar to you, I speak Cree because this sacred promise deserves nothing less. I promise you this: I will always be there for you, just as you have been for me.
You are not just my sister by blood, but my chosen family, my heart family—someone I hold close because of the bond we’ve built together. Since your birth, you have been part of the light that leads me forward, illuminating my darkest moments. Despite our age difference, we have always had a special bond, one that I can feel deeply in my spirit. It would be my honor to bring you to a powwow or perhaps even a sundance—not just as an offering, but as an acknowledgment of how much you mean to me.”
Cree Syllabics:
ᓇᓂᑕᐍ ᐁᑳ ᓇᓂᑕᐍ ᓇᑭᐦᑲᓯ ᑳ ᐃᓯ ᐋᔭᔭᑌᔭᐦᑳᐠ ᐁᐑᐢᑯᑌᕽ ᐁᐅᓯᐦᑌᔭᐦᑳᐠ ᓀᐦᐃᔭᐍᐏᐣ᙮ ᑭᓇᓇᐢᑯᒥᑎᐣ ᐆᐦᐃ ᒫᒫᐦᑕᐑᔦᑲᐣ ᑳ ᓀᑖᐦᒃ ᐋᓱᔦᑲᓂᔨᑫᐏᐣ ᐁᑯᓯ ᒥᓂᐠ ᑳ ᐅᓯᐦᑖᒥᐦᑌᒋᕽ᙮ ᑭᓇᓇᐢᑯᒥᑎᐣ ᐁᑭ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐋᒋᒧᓯᔭᐣ ᑮᑿᕀ ᐁᐁᔮᔨᔭᐦᐠ ᐋᑲᒥᓯᔪ᙮
ᓈᓂᑕᐍ ᐁᑿ ᓈᓈᑕᐍ ᓈᑮᐠ ᑳ ᐃᓯ ᐋᔭᔭᐦᑕᔮᐦᑳᐠ ᐁ ᐑᐢᑯᑌᕽ ᐁ ᐅᓯᐦᑌᔭᐦᑳᐠ ᓀᐦᐃᔭᐍᐏᐣ᙮
ᑭᓇᓈᐢᑯᒥᑎᐣ ᐆᐦᐃ ᒫᒫᐦᑕᐏᔦᑲᐣ, ᑳ ᓀᑖᕽ ᐋᓭ ᑳ ᐊᐢᑳᐦᑳᓂᔨᑫᐏᐣ ᐁᑯᓯ ᒥᓂᐠ ᑳ ᐅᓯᐦᑖᒥᐦᑌᒋᕽ᙮
ᑭᓇᓈᐢᑯᒥᑎᐣ, ᓂᑮᓯᐢᑯᐁᐤ᙮
ᑳ ᒥᔨᑭᐏᐣ ᑳ ᐐᑭᐤ ᐋᑕᔪᐦᑫᐤ ᐋᐏᔮᕽ; ᑳ ᐃᓯ ᐋᔭᔭᓂᔮ ᓂᔭ ᐊᐊᐧᐋ ᑎᐱᔭᐤ᙮
ᑮᑿᐩ ᑳ ᑮ ᐊᔭᔭᐣ, ᑖᐱᐢᑯ ᑳ ᓈᑐᑌᔭᐣ ᓂᑑᐢᑫᐣ᙮
ᓂᑲᐢᑮᑕᐣ ᓂᔭᑳᐤ ᑳ ᐊᔭᔭᐣ ᑕ ᑮᑮ ᑳ ᐊᔭᓈᓇᐣ ᐋᓯᐢᑮᐦᑕᐤ᙮
ᑭᑎᓂᑫᔨᐦᑕᒼ ᒫᓇ ᓂᑑᐧᐋᓯᓂᑭᓯᒼᐃᔮᐣ ᐁᑿ ᑲ ᑮ ᐱᒫᑎᓀᔮᐣ ᐁᐊᐧᑯᕽ ᑳ ᐅᓯᐦᑕᒫᐣ ᒥᓄ ᐱᒫᑎᓯᐏᐣ ᓂᑑᐧᐋᓯᑲᓀᐣ᙮
ᐁᑯᓯ ᒫᑲ ᐊᐧᐊ ᑲ ᐐ ᐊᔭᐘᐠ ᐊᐧᐊ ᐄᑳ ᐃᓯ ᒥᔨᐏᑲᐤ ᑳ ᑎᐱᐢᑯᐤ ᓂᐢᑎᐧᐢᑲᐤ ᐊᔨᐢᑭ ᒦᓇ ᓂᐢᑫᐧᐤ ᐏᑯ, ᑭᑎᐦᑭᓯᔮᐣ ᑳ ᓂᑕᐢᑮᐣ᙮
ᑭᑎᓂᑫᔨᐦᑕᒼ ᐁ ᑮ ᓂᐸᐦᐋᐟ ᓂᑑᐧᐋᓯᑲᓀᐣ ᓃᑖᐤᐊᔨᒼᐊᐘᐠ; ᐁ ᐐᐱᓱᐣᐠ ᐁ ᐋᐦᑳᒣᔨᒼᐋᐘᐠ ᐅᑕᐦᒃ ᑳ ᓂᒦᐦᐃᐦᐃᑐᒋᐠ ᐊᐧᐋᐧᐆᐧᐊᐠ, ᑳ ᑮ ᓱᐦᑫᔨᐏᐠ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᑳᑯᐧᐦᑫᐦᐃᑐᐢᑭᐠ ᐏᔮᓴ ᑳ ᒫᒪᐦᑕᐏᐠ᙮
ᐊᔨᐢᑫᐧᑌᐠ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒥᔨᐧᐁᔨᑕᒼᐊᐧᑯᐢ ᓇᓈᑐᕽ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᓇᓈᑕᐢᑑᐟᐋᐧᐠ᙮
ᑭᑎᓂᑫᔨᐦᑕᒼ ᐁ ᑮ ᐏᓯᐦᑫᔨᒼᐆᐟ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐘᓂᐢᑳᐧᐊᐟ ᑳ ᐃᓯ ᐱᒫᑎᓯᔮᐣ ᐊᐧᐋ ᐏᔮᐣ, ᐁᐦᑳ ᑳ ᐋᐦᑳᒣᑎᐣ ᐁ ᐊᐧᑯ ᑲ ᒦᓇ ᐋᐦᑳᒣᐧᔮᐣ ᐲᐦᑐᐧᐊᒪᐠ᙮
I’ve included Cree syllabics because they carry the history, identity, and Spirit of the language. Syllabics honor the traditions and teachings of our ancestors, connecting words to the energy of oral traditions and the Creator. Even though I’m still learning, using syllabics is my way of showing respect to the Spirits and the sacredness of the promise I am making to you.
Who am I? 
I would love to hear from you!