I was convinced I wrote about this club dozens of times; so much so that I didn’t believe the search function on my own blog. I miss my sister every single day, thinking about her many times a day, what she could be doing right now – or how she would handle any situation I might be in.
I think of her especially as my father is grappling with his sister, dying of cancer. Sisters are forever; we cannot divorce them or break up with them. Sisters are magical witnesses to your fucked up (or blissful) childhood and only they know the unique history attached to the titles, “mom” and “dad.”
How many of us are desperately missing our sisters right now?
My sister and I have not lived in the same city for over five years and for better or worse I’ve gotten accustomed to our long distance relationship. Most of our communication is done electronically via text, phone, FaceTime and we see each other a couple of times a year for a day or two at a time – always because she makes the trip down to New York rather than I to Maine with my family of four.
For four years, my sister and I lived five blocks apart on Manhattan’s upper Eastside. Additionally, we worked in the same office, in the same department, with her cubicle directly outside my office. This was not just a memorable and fun period of our life, it was freaking cool. Life brought us together when we both desperately needed one another. We had a pulse on where either one of us was at any time of day and we were there to celebrate everyday victories or to mourn annoying disappointments. We watched American Idol and ate dinner and frozen yogurt on my couch. We knew it was special, we knew it wasn’t permanent, and we savored it as much as we could but life evolved. Men entered our picture and families grew and our branches separated; she liked it cold and rural and I could never break up from NYC. She happily sought refuge to Maine.
I am convinced there is divine enchantment in a sisterly bond, a genetic link that convenes way beyond molecules. Sisters understand this; we live it. My sister is more than a best friend and different than a husband. The love I have for my sister is unlike what I feel for my parents or for my children, but it comes from the same place, deep down from source of the strongest love I can produce.
I’m relatively certain our current circumstances aren’t permanent; life is nothing if not a constant transition. The miles which stretch between us is physical distance, but it’s not an inch farther from her forever home in my heart. She will always be on my side, I will always be on hers. Whenever I hear the word, “sister,” I’m flooded with a warm nostalgia mixed with longing and I thank my lucky stars I have one of those.