I can't begin to express what I think it means to be a sister, to have a sister or sisters. In my mind its supposed to be this fierce, I've got your back, I know your story and "I love you despite all of that" kind of affection. Its magical, its freeing, its no judgement, its a force to be reckoned with. To me, sisterhood is an incredible bond between women who unconditionally care for one another, who want to see the best in each other and who want the world for one another. It's celebrating each others differences and strengths as well as weakness. Sisterhood is learning from the other with an open heart, it's a "when her heart aches mine aches with her" kind of bond. Sisterhood is being each others "Naomi", where she goes I will go....It's trust!
There are so many beautiful quotes about sisterhood, they make the relationship sound so enchanting, something to strive for. If you didn't have a sister it makes you wish you had. If you have a sister it allows you to either hope for a relationship such as that or nod your head because thats exactly how you feel about your sister. I fall into the category that dreams that sisterhood could at the very least resemble one of those quotes. I'm hopeful!
I visited with a few of my sisters recently, and while there was plenty to reflect on, one instance stood out to me. It was a profound moment for me, but for the life of me I couldn't speak up. It wasn't the time or place. It wouldn't have been welcomed...just because it resonated with me didn't mean it needed to be a conversation in that moment or possibly ever. I can't recall what we were talking about specifically but it was in regards to our childhood. I must have made some reference to my sister and her social life because her response was "whatever, anytime I had friends over you were right there in the middle of it!" That just wasn't the case...ever! I was a pariah in her world. And I never understood why. Her comment has stuck with me and I've begun to question so much now.
The night after our visit, I laid in bed wondering how she could convince herself that what she said was real. I thought back on our history together...the bumps in the road that have gotten us here. Where did it all go wrong.
My mind delicately sifted through the years, a memory arises and I try to think back to see if there was this division before that specific time and there was. So I go back further. I decide to start at the beginning, as far back as my memory will allow. We are only 13 months apart so at one point in time we were each others best friend. We made forts together, danced to the same music, memorized the same songs, got into trouble together...and then one day it stopped! One day there was thing between us and I was so naive about it. I just wanted my big sister, her acceptance, her approval...her love. Now, I can so clearly see when it all changed, it was just after our mom died. Rather than clinging together there was just space. We were little girls. One of us was all raw emotion and one of us shut down, I think. This began our new norm. I wonder what she would think about this theory. I lost more in this time of my life than I ever realized. Did she blame me? Did she hate me now?
It was a tough road after that, our lives changed in such a dramatic way! Rather than comforting one another, I don't know that we knew how, we grew further and further apart. She tore my dolls heads off and ripped the ear off the stuffed bunny that was my counterpart and that had also been with our mom during her last days. That easily became a core memory for me because I did not understand what I had done. She would claim that I'd done things that would then warrant serious punishment. I think back to that now wondering what could have been going through her mind as she watched my punishment play out. It brings tears to my eyes thinking back on it. We were arguing about something silly I'm sure and I threw what was in my hand in her direction. It was a pencil and a notepad. I knew that it never touched her, I think it landed at her feet, maybe it grazed her foot. She dropped to the floor though, holding her face..her eye! And the cry that came from her was so loud and hollowing. Our dad flew into the room trying to figure out how to tend to her. She raised her finger to point at me and then at the floor where the pencil lay at her feet. No questions asked, our dad lifted me by my upper arms, my head hitting the light fixture and brought me down to the ground knocking the breath out of me. Before I could even realize that I couldn't breath I was being spanked. My legs, back, bottom..wherever his anger/rage landed. I remember glancing her way to see her peaking out behind the hands that she was holding her wounded eye with. Afterwards I remember just wondering why, what had I done to make her want this for me? It was 20 years later when she pulled me aside and told me that the pencil had never hit near her face, which I already knew. I began to tell our dad and she shielded my efforts to get it out. She treated it as if it were a casual matter, but to me it was so much more. It really makes me sad, it makes my chest hurt thinking back through these memories. These moments were moments that crushed my spirit a little at a time until I was a broken little girl.
I would love to say that those memories I flashed back on were left in the past, sibling rivalry if you will. Unfortunately, thats not our story. I love my sister, despite all of our misunderstandings, our wounds really. I think its more than fair to say that we didn't have the easiest childhood after our mom passed away. We had three younger sisters and eventually a younger brother. All the years between my childhood to my adolescence were marred with a difficult family life. There were good times of course but, more often there was strife. My sister and I stuck together in trying times but I think it was more of the "power in numbers" mentality rather than her desire to be around me. Who knows, I was hardheaded and had my share of faults. In those times I think I would have done or tried to be anything she wanted me to, if it meant being under my sisters wing. I relished in the moments that people would say that I looked like my sister, it was a special kind of compliment to me.
It meant I belonged somewhere.
It meant I belonged somewhere.
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