My Sister

If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child. ~ Linda Sunshine

Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize, indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks. Borrow. Break. Monopolize the bathroom. Are always underfoot. But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there. Defending you against all comers. ~Pam Brown

http://youtu.be/5hy2OeaYfbA [You Are My Sister/Antony & the Johnsons]

Today is my sister’s birthday. She turned 51. I’ve been thinking about her a LOT the last few days, trying to sift through the 48 ½ years of memories. To be fair, my earliest memory was when I was about three, so let’s just say that I’ve been pondering the last 45 years, trying to narrow down what I wanted to say about her today, and what I wanted you to know about her. Let’s see: you already know that she’s a better colorer than I am, and she beat me out as Mary in "The Friendly Beasts" play at church. She was the one who was called out of her 5^th grade class to come and talk to me [get me to stop crying] each morning after my mother was transferred across town to be the Admin. Asst. in a new school. I believe I’ve alluded to the fact that she mastered "Easy Bake Oven" baking before I did.
Here are some things you don’t know: she’s neater than I am. What can I say? Play seemed more important to me than a clean bedroom. I saw nothing wrong with pushing all my toys under my bed versus putting them away, like my sister did. My bed was made. My side of the room looked orderly and neat, even if it was hiding secrets underneath my bed. We still laugh about that, and my mother was having none of it! We still laugh about that too.
Pam can play the piano, which is something I’m not ashamed to say I’ve always envied. She could tell a mean Mary Constable ghost story too – so scary that it gave young boys pause before they’d go into an empty old farmhouse in the middle of the afternoon to go to the bathroom.
I use to love playing Barbies with her. She’s the one who painted my fingernails for the first time: Tinkerbell Blush Pink. That’s what we called it anyway. She taught me to crochet, and trust me when I tell you, it was no easy feat.
I remember when we were kids, I wanted to do everything she did. She was my big sister, after all. I thought, as much as we argued and disagreed as young sisters often do, that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I wanted to be just like her – I longed to have long brown hair and the chocolate eyes that she had just like my mother and grandmother – if only for a day, I longed be just like her.
The first lesson I truly remember learning about life was with Pam – because of her. It was about sharing. When we were little girls, we shared a room until I was about nine. It taught me about boundaries and respecting another’s space. I loved our room. It was a pale lilac color and our bedspreads had tiny purple flowers on them. The closet was divided in half: one side for her things, one side for mine. The large steamer trunk in our room used the same formula - one side for her toys, the other for mine. Our twin beds were separated with a small chest placed between them where we kept our books. I didn’t mess with her stuff, and she didn’t mess with mine. Well....most of the time.
I was in the fourth grade when we moved to the house in Grove Park – the house that my father built for us, namely for my mother. We each got our own bedroom as a result. I loved having my own room, but I admit that I missed going to bed at night and having my sister in the twin bed across from me. There was something oddly familiar and comforting about having her there, especially on nights after we’d watched Creature Feature.
In the house on Jamaica Court [Grove Park], her bedroom was all the way at the end of the hall, while mine was next to our parents’ bedroom. It truly wasn’t that far away, but to a young kid, it seemed like miles separated us, and there was something sad about no longer having her bed next to mine. The first night we slept in that house, after we’d said goodnight to our parents and gone to our individual rooms, I remember tossing and turning then huffing a heavy sigh. Sleep didn’t come easy that first night: new place, new room, no sister.
Just like something out of the Waltons, I called down the hall to her. "Goodnight, Pam!"
It was quiet for a second, then she called back. "Night, Jhill!"
Back to when we shared a room. There were also the fun nights when we’d talk and giggle until we literally wore ourselves out and finally fell to sleep, especially after we’d seen fun movies: anything with Elvis Presley in it; the annual, Wizard of Oz showing; and all the Christmas classics we loved to watch every year. Speaking of Christmas, it was fun each year to challenge the other to see who could stay awake the longest to "catch" Santa Clause - and see which one of us could hear first, any sound of him anywhere in the vicinity of our house. We thought we had a good jump on that game-plan because of getting home from midnight church service so late. Surely, he wouldn’t come much later than 1:30 a.m.? However, neither one of us could ever stay up much beyond that point in our attempt to catch him in the act. We both managed to drop off before he arrived at our house. I think I was the first one up, though, she might take exception to that!
We especially loved Easter because, not only did Peter Rabbit come and leave us a basket teeming with all kinds of sweet treats, but we got a new dress to boot to wear for Easter Sunday church service. We also got brand new shoes - white patent leather ones with frilly little socks to go along with that fancier dress than what we normally wore to church, because it was a special Sunday.
One year in particular, Pam and I got matching dresses in different colors. It was the coolest dress! We looked mighty fine in them, if I do say so myself, and were both proud to wear them. Pam’s was pink and mine was purple. Here was the cool thing about those dresses: the colored part of our dress was the solid color in a sateen sort of fabric and the overlay on the dress was a lace material with an elegant burn-out design so that the solid color shown through. If that wasn’t beautiful enough, the sleeves of the dresses were a sheer, long see-through material [in pink and purple hue] that was ruffled at our wrists. If we held our arms up, the material fanned out just like the angel-wings kids would make after a hearty snow. My mother fixed our hair - pulling it back then topped it with a ribbon on each of us. I think we both felt like a beautifully wrapped gift. We certainly looked like one. We were both the hit of our Sunday school classes because our dresses were unusually gorgeous. I remember a lot of comments and compliments on mine, and I’m sure Pam received no less. My mother has a photo somewhere of us in those dresses, but I can see us perfectly in them in my mind’s eye.
I’ve previously mentioned that my sister can play the piano. Sometimes, we’d perform a "special number" during church service with Pam accompanying me while I sang. We always knew where Mother and Dad were, because the pew where they sat showed the two largest grins in the place.
My father was especially proud of Pam’s ability to play the piano which is not to say that my mother wasn’t. It’s just that I remember he was vocally proud about it. I can still hear my father saying, whenever guests visited our house, "Pam, play the piano for them." She had a small repertoire that she fell back on in those moments when called upon out of the blue to play: Bridge Over Troubled Water, You’ll Never Walk Alone and a zippy little number called Boogie Woogie. She practiced a lot in the late afternoon. I can’t tell you how many songs she could play from the hymnal, but many times, I’d sing along while she played and my mother would join in on the chorus from the kitchen as she made our supper. Good times~great memories.
One year, for my father’s birthday, [it was in early December], Pam played his favorite hymn: How Great Thou Art. She had practiced that piece diligently for weeks before he got home from work so that it would be flawless, when she finally played it on his birthday. I sat on the sofa, listening, as she played–as her fingers moved gracefully over those black and white keys. I marveled that she could make such a beautiful sound come from a wooden box with a couple of pedals and a long strand of keys. I glanced over at my father when she first began playing that song for him. He had the genuine smile of pride on his face. I glanced back over when she was finishing the hymn, and his eyes were closed with that same smile in place, but he had an air of peace about him. I’ve never forgotten that look. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that it’s the greatest gift you can give a person: a momentary feeling of peace and well-being. It’s far greater than a tie or a bottle of cologne. That night, my sister gave my father the gift of a peaceful, easy, happy feeling. I’m not sure that she’s ever been aware of that, because her back was to him, but I saw it and have never forgotten it.
I use to watch her in wonder as she played. Sometimes, her fingers would lightly touch the keys while other times, they’d come down hard then roll along the pathway of them and work her thumb til it was the only thing pulling back down against them, and her fingers would be off again, dancing over those keys. If she knew a song by heart, I use to watch her eyes close as she went to someplace in her head that enabled her to produce those joyous sounds.
I use to wish that I could catch hold of her arm and have her take me with her to that secret place that had the power to understand dots of ink in various form: some had straight back lines attached to them, others had bottom lip smiles attached to the straight back lines, still others had no straight back lines but had a straight line through it like that of an arrow with no arrowhead attached. Some dots were shaded, others were half-shaded and then there were ones that were empty circles. It’s a language I have never been able to grasp or understand. I tried once, but my brain simply couldn’t get the rhythm or timing associated with those notes. I do much better with consonants and vowels.
Not everything has been a perfectly colored picture or a flawlessly played hymn. Things haven’t always been smooth sailing for us or for her. We’ve butted heads a time or two. We’ve had our share of disagreements over the years. We’ve kept a healthy distance from the other when it appeared that such recourse was in the best interest of both of our well-beings. We’re sisters! I think it is the nature of that particular relationship.
Still, when all is said and done, she is my family–my blood, and I’m hers. True to our childhood form, just like when she was head cheerleader, and I was captain of the pep squad, we root for the other; we cheer each other on; and, are always willing and ready when the other needs a pep talk.
She is the one who stood beside me when I gave and received the most important vow of my life. She is the one who came over on weekends and stayed late into the night when I was trying to unpack and arrange the first home I ever had. She is the one who, along with my mother and my husband, held me together as we sat in my doctor’s office the day after I learned that I’d miscarried my first baby – waiting to be re-examined [just to make sure], before I scheduled a DNC the following morning that would remove every indication that I had carried life inside my body. Her pep-talk before that life-changer is one that, to this day, I remember with crystal clarity.
Sisterhood is just like the sentiment that I’ve expressed before regarding an essay I wrote about our sisterhood in a book about sisters that I gave her for her birthday many years ago. For those of you who don’t recall it or did not read that particular entry, it is this: you can tell your sister off in a dozen languages, but if you need to borrow a quarter, she’ll lend you a quarter.
Today is my sister’s birthday: 51. I hope it will be a good number for her, and that the year will be kind to her. I didn’t make a wish for her today. That’s for her to do. But, I did say a prayer. I took all the songs that I’ve listed here that have special significance between us, and strung them together, adding a few words here and there of my own. It’s my homemade birthday card to her. Happy Birthday, Pammy!
You are my sister, and I love you. You are my sister, know that I care. I wish for you a happy life filled with goodness and rich blessings. May all of your dreams come true....all of them....I want that for you. When darkness comes, just remember I’m on your side. You sail on silver girl! Your time has come to shine. ALL your dreams are on their way! I hope you can see how they shine – just like sunshine, they shine bright for you. If I had a wish, that I could wish for you, I’d make a wish for sunshine all the while... Today’s your birthday. I wish I could see you blow your candles out. But, I’m there with you, if only in spirit, and I’ll always be there for you. When you walk through life’s storms, hold your head up high. Don’t ever be afraid of the dark. At the end of each storm there’s a golden sky with the sweet, silver song of a lark...keep walking– moving on– going forward, and if you should find your dreams tossed and blown, keep hope in your heart, because you never walk alone. You have never walked alone...
You are my sister, and I love you. Happy Birthday!

http://youtu.be/H_a46WJ1viA [Bridge Over Troubled Water/Simon & Garfunkel]
https://youtu.be/A3yt2aH42JE [Sunshine/John Denver]
http://youtu.be/mh8MIp2FOhc [I’ll Be There for You/Bon Jovi]
http://youtu.be/MGXHyp08mcE [You’ll Never Walk Alone/K. D. Lang]