I was around 8 years old when one of the most tragic events occurred in my family. It began on an early morning one weekday. I woke up, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and yawned as I stretched my arms out. I then leaped out from the bottom bunk bed and began to make my way out of my room. It was at that moment when I heard the worried voice of my mother. I turned my full attention to where the voice was coming from and began to walk down the hallway to my 14-year-old sister’s room. There sat Mum on the side of the bed next to my sister with her phone in her hand calling 000 for help. My sister’s face was pale, her body shook as she gasped for air, and she couldn’t feel her legs. Her condition started off mild. It was just a cold at first. However, it had become life threatening over a matter of days.

Moments later, the ambulance had arrived at our house. One of my parents rushed to the front door to let the paramedics inside. After a brief greeting, they rushed down to the back of the house where my sister’s room was located. They entered the room and began asking her questions while immediately getting to work on assessing her condition. Minutes went by as they assessed her. They concluded that she needed to be rushed to the hospital.

She was struggling immensely to breathe at the time. She couldn’t walk and was hardly conscious. Tears ran down her face as the paramedics carried her limp body from the bedroom to the ambulance. They then proceeded to load her into the back of the ambulance. Immediately they began to work on her, administering injections to keep her conscious and alive. I waited anxiously outside the ambulance. Minutes passed until one of the paramedics stepped out of the back of the ambulance and confronted us, “If she had stayed in bed for another couple of hours, she would have died.” Hearing this, I became an emotional wreck.

She was rushed to the hospital and there we found out she had pneumonia (an infection of the lungs). She stayed in the hospital for two weeks, most of which she spent unconscious. She was put on a ventilator and had to be constantly monitored. The doctors reminded us several times that it was possible that she wouldn’t make it. I remember visiting her a couple of times in the hospital, the first of which I wrote a letter for her. As I walked into her room, I stopped for a moment to just look at her—she was motionless and her eyes were shut. I reached into my pocket and grabbed the letter I had written her. I could not bring myself to read it aloud, so I handed it to my dad.

“Musha [my nickname] wrote a letter for you.” He then proceeded to read it to her. Throughout the entire visit, she did not show any sign of consciousness. It was only by the beeps of the heart rate monitor that I was assured she was still alive, just not awake. I remembered the last thing she did before coming down sick was give all her brothers a gift. She had bought us all cricket caps and mine was the cap of my favorite team, the Brisbane Heat. Her kind act came flooding back in my mind every day throughout this trial. She eventually recovered and was able to come home and get back to her normal life.

Many of us take our siblings for granted—in fact, too many. My sister’s health trial taught me the lesson of appreciating my siblings. At the time, I didn’t appreciate my sister as much as I should have. I did not make the most of the times I had with her, and it took this severe health trial for me to wake up to the realization that siblings are one of the greatest blessings God has given us in life. They are a gift that we should never take for granted!

It is easy to pick out the slightest flaws in your siblings, argue and bicker over nonsense—but who is always there for you? Who is your lifelong best friend? Sometimes it takes a severe trial to help us learn the lesson of being grateful. For me, it did. Don’t ignore or be negative with your siblings, you never know how much time you have with them. Love them, care for them, cherish and make the absolute most of the time you have with them!