The years from my last post to this one have contained so much rage and angst that, well, I mostly used Twitter to express myself. Short bursts of 280ish character eruptions kept me semi-sane. Facebook was a slow-moving, continual train wreck of unfollowing and blocking people who conflate religion with politics. Cannot. Do. It.
That, however, is not the purpose of this post. Those thoughts will wait for another day. My head and heart are full of love for two special women – my daughter and my sister. “A” (daughter) takes up a fair amount of my brain on any given day, and I’m going to write about her – lack of discipline permitting. But today I keep thinking about my little sister. “Little” is relative as I’m now 60 and she is… 49, I think. She gave me a gift yesterday when the family gathered for a celebration of our great-aunt’s life. It’s a pretty coffee cup and frame, and a candle I almost ate, it smelled so good.
The cup she chose because it reminded her of our other aunt who died in 2016 – the events surrounding her illness and death brought us closer. It jabbed me, though, revealing long-forgotten memories of how S would give me little presents when she was a small child. The gift might be a rock, or a card, or sometimes it was something she’d “borrowed” from my room. She would wrap it in a cloth or a piece of paper she’d colored, and give it to me proudly. I was a terrible teenage sister, and I’m sure I didn’t show the gratitude such thoughtfulness required. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how self-absorbed I was, as a sister to two younger siblings and as a mother of two. See, I’m still self-absorbed… but this isn’t about me.
When I left for college a year ahead of schedule, S was entering either kindergarten or first grade. I married the first time way too young, the second time at 23 (still pretty young), and the third and final time at 39. S was present at all three but never elevated as she should have been to a role of honor. She and my daughter are closer in age than we are, and the tension between them ebbed and flowed as they competed for my mother’s attention. S would always win that battle, as a daughter usually will.
I am eternally grateful that, in spite of, well, ME – the long distance between us as I left home has narrowed over the years. Mainly because she’s never given up on that sister relationship, I am given a gift over and over again – the love of a little sister. So I cherish every coffee cup, framed decoration, candle, and fragrant shower gel. One of the cups had “The Queen” in gold paint on it. I use it to hold small items in my bedroom because if I washed it in the dishwasher that paint would wear off. My favorite cup is one about sisters. I take it out and enjoy it with my weekend coffee occasionally, always aware of who gave it to me and the important message of love it represents. The little gifts of love continue and I am here for all of them.
Today our calls and texts are not frequent enough. I want to talk to her every day, but I respect and admire the busy life she has with work and family. When something happens I wish I could call her to talk about it. And on those occasions when we DO visit by phone I do my best to learn as much as I can about the grown-up version of Baby S. My hope is that one day, when she has more time, we will have more time for sisterly chats and visits. I don’t deserve her, and I’m eternally grateful she never gave up.