Sisters

When my mother was a little girl she shared a bedroom with her 3 sisters. And she, and her next oldest sister Angie, would pretend they were sleeping when their older sisters Fran and Jackie would come home from their dates. Fran and Jackie would poke and prod the little ones to make sure they were asleep. And upon being convinced of their slumber, the two older sisters would gossip about boys.

And my mother and my Aunt Angie, who had only been feigning sleep, would then blackmail their two older sisters with the information they had overheard.

As the mother of three daughters aged two years apart I noticed that sisters were a built in play group. They did not need to constantly have other little girls over. If their own friends were not home, they always had each other. They were each other’s fall-back.

And for as mean and evil as my girls could be among themselves, the meaness did not last long. Eventually all would be forgiven. Their love was unconditional—even if it took a little while for the unconditional part to kick in.

For the entirety of my life I have counted on girlfriends to adopt me as their sister. And I have been fortunate to have found women who have overfilled the void. They were the ones who picked me up when I stumbled. They brushed my children’s hair in preparation for my father’s funeral mass. They brought me soup when I was sick. They listened. They read my writing.

They were the peanut butter to my jelly.

And because I have no biological sisters I think I treasure my girlfriends just a tiny bit more than if I had had genetically related sisters of my own. All sister-less friends do. We recognize that while friendships can mimic a sororal connection there is no blood to seal the contract. Friendships will always be more fragile than true sisterhood. Infractions—intended or not----may cause permanent fracture.

Sister-less women maintain their friendships hyper-wary of potential loss.

And sometimes my mother will call me with annoyance over something one of her sisters has said or done. It is my job to remind her that she is the fortunate one---not only does she have sisters, but they are all still alive and well. They share her history. And at nearly 82 years of age my mother is still the baby sister whose older siblings have long forgiven her for threatening to tell Mama. Because that is what sisters do. They love unconditionally---and they forgive each other everything.