The most precious Jewell

December 31, 1999.

I was a Freshman in high school. I didn’t believe the world as I knew it would come to an end – be it from the lack of foresight in early computer programmers or from any more supernatural or religious causes – but I was certainly caught up in the rest of the Y2K hype.

It was, after all, a new year. More than that, it was a new century, a new millennium – or the last year of an old one, strictly speaking. Either way, it meant that the first two digits of the year would change for the first time in the lives of most of the world’s population.

I didn’t know what this new era would bring.

I had no idea that nine years, three months and thirteen days later, I’d be living in Tacoma, thinking back to that particular New Year’s Eve. I wish I could remember what I was doing, that night, as I stood on the precipice of such an important year.

2000 was the Year of the Dragon, according to the Chinese zodiac. It was a leap year, the first century leap year since 1600. It was even designated the International Year for the Culture of Peace.

Over the course of that year the United States would elect a new president. The world would have its eyes glued to the Summer Olympics. The judge in the United States v. Microsoft trial would officially rule that Microsoft had committed monopolization. My older sister would give birth to my first niece.

All monumental, yes, but more monumental still was something I never would have expected: I fell in love.

Not romantic love, mind you. No, far from it – a better love. Platonic and protective. Half brotherly and half parental. A love that would teach me what’s most important in life. A love that still grows stronger every day.

On April 13, 2000, my little sister, Jewell, was born.

I didn’t know, at the time, that I would come to call her my sister. Her father was a complete stranger to me. Her mother was my abuser, a cousin who – in her short time living with us – had crippled my psyche. Before this drug-addicted psychopath had lived in the same house as me, I had never known the sensation of being genuinely afraid that someone would hurt me. I’d never felt the terror of really believing that someone I knew was fully capable of killing me.

Even after she was no longer living with us, my tormentor still had power over me.

The fact that she was having a child was a sobering thought on many levels. My mother wrote a song about it once. It’s a favorite of mine; I still cry whenever I think of it. It makes me think of how things might have been. If my cousin’s child would still be alive today. If my little sister would still be alive today.

When Jewell was three months old, her father brought her to us. He was worried that my cousin was going to run off with her and live on the street. As a family, we had been involved in her life so far, to some degree. My mother was there for her birth, and we’d checked in since then – mostly through my mother, who had even been there at Jewell’s birth.

My mother and I were about to take a trip to Disneyland right about that same time. The trip was something that had been promised, and my Mom didn’t want to spoil it. So the choice was left to me: we could bring her along, take care of her…or not. The former would convince my cousin not to interfere, wanting her daughter to experience Disneyland. She believed three-month-old Jewell would be able remember it. The latter option would have necessitated that someone else take care of her. This was nothing new – she was frequently bounced around neighbors and other various babysitters.

She was a fragile thing. Earlier, she’d been the first baby that I’d ever held who was so young, so small. I’d been afraid to hold her, afraid of dropping her. She wasn’t as happy or carefree as a child her age should be. The difference between her and other three-month-olds that I’ve observed since is alarming. She hadn’t had enough bonding time with anyone, bounced around between babysitters as she was.

I said we could take her with us to Disneyland.

I didn’t think too much of the decision at the time. In the years since, however, my mother has frequently told me that if we hadn’t taken her with us, we might not have her today. Thinking back, now, I start to cry when I imagine life without my precious Jewell.

I’m not sure when, exactly, we bonded – whether it was before the trip or during the trip. All I know is that I fell very quickly in love – brotherly, protective love – with the small life I was helping watch over.

I did a lot of growing up in that time. I took my turns on night duty – sleeping next to her cradle, tending to her when she cried. I honestly think more teenagers should have to do this. Just one whole night of being responsible for an infant would teach them a lot about many things.

Jewell is nine years old today. I’ve watched that precious, tiny life grow into an amazingly smart, talented little girl. She’s always surprising me, always making me more proud of her. The hardest part of moving out of my parents’ house was leaving her. She’s almost like having my own child – I’ve helped her develop, I’ve introduced her to all kinds of things. If I ever have a child of my own, I can’t see it happening until after she’s grown up.

So I can’t help but think back to that New Year’s Eve, on the brink of a new era…not for the world at large, but for my life and family. I could never have guessed that it would be one of the most important years of my life. I could never have guessed that anything so important, so precious and so life-changing would come into my life. Even if I could have, I certainly never would have guessed that it would be the daughter of someone who had caused me so much pain.

She is exactly what her name says: a jewel. Precious, indescribable and oh so very rare.

I can’t wait to see what her future brings.