I’m not sure how you grew up, but I know how I did. I’ve never known anyone longer than I have my sister Cathy. By some standards, she could have been considered the sister from hell. Like most older siblings, she kept me in line and kicked me in the ass. Older siblings do that. After all, I was a pain in the ass little brother – always underfoot and endlessly annoying.
That’s what little brothers do.
Being the middle child – I got it from both ends – a younger sister who kept the parents informed – about everything – and an older sibling who’d make faces at me at the dinner table – and then looked like “What? What are you talking about?!” I got sent away from the table for laughing, burping, or worse. I was a born shit disturber who would cause trouble, then try to look innocent when all eyes were on me.
Hey, I was a victim of circumstances.
How we feel about our siblings can become complex. We fight as children and come of age hoping we will get along better as adults. Sometimes, that works. Other times, it doesn’t. Living a continent apart comes with a host of misunderstandings and disagreements. For years, Cathy and I didn’t speak, due mostly to misunderstandings, tortured communications, and the passing of our parents. None of it was over inheritances and belongings. Much of it was due to miscommunication.
With both parents gone, it puts everything into perspective. You feel orphaned no matter how old you are. The clock never stops ticking and time marches on. One morning when I was out on a job, my cell phone rang. I heard her voice, “Jimmy, I don’t want to be estranged anymore…” Relieved, I welcomed her call and we scheduled time to catch up and make peace with each other. I give her credit for extending the olive branch. We’ve been tight as piano wire ever since.
Cathy and I have enjoyed a wonderful relationship through the years. Sometimes, we go for months without a word – then pick up right up where we left off. With each text message or phone call, we continue to bond and share memories. Because she is two years my senior, she remembers more than I do. She is also the official family historian, with so much more knowledge than I have at 70. It is remarkable how much she remembers and is all too happy to share.
I am grateful for the love of my big sister, who will be 73 in December – Pearl Harbor Day – which seems appropriate considering the scar tissue from childhood. LOL.. Despite everything we know about one another – we still speak, share memories, laugh our asses off, and let each other know what we mean to each other.
It doesn’t get much better than that.
I love you, Cathy Sue…
