April 3, 2017 | If you have a big sister like mine, tell her thanks for filling in the gaps.
My only sister is the oldest of our siblings, and I am the youngest. She was 17 when I was born - a senior in high school.
The memories of our time in the same house are limited to the photographs in my parents' photo albums of me slathering my sister's cold cream (moisturizer) all over myself (I was two); us in our Easter dresses, posed in the yard with the blooming lilac trees in the background; and me, looking darling, as the flower girl at her wedding in a yellow satin dress.
I don't remember living with her. She was out of the house and living large by the time I was old enough to identify the other residents of our household. Because of the tiny housing overlap, I don't remember fighting like an average set of sisters. There wasn't any sibling negotiation. Instead, I looked up to her in total admiration.
I had a dream the other night, that this only big sister of mine was actually my mother, and I was only finding out about it in my fifties. It was an epic all-nighter of a dream, competing with the most lavish of made-for-television movies, full of drama and secrets. As it played out, my parents found out my sister was pregnant. In an effort to protect her from scandal, they went to great lengths to make it look like my mother was having a baby while my sister went into hiding. They even went so far as to have my birth certificate forged so no one would ever know the truth. Come to think of it, I think I've seen this exact made-for-television movie before. Perhaps my imagination was borrowing from the Lifetime channel.
Righteous indignation fogged my dream state. The deceit! The betrayal! "I've been going on about my great mother, my entire life! Couldn't someone have found time to tell me? The woman I thought was my mother has been hefted upon a pedestal that I, myself, painstakingly chiseled for her! My whole life has been a lie!" Apparently, I'm very dramatic when I feel I've been wronged.
I woke up. I rolled over. I woke up my husband and explained the horrible injustice I'd just endured in the dream world. Granted, my husband has been through some horrible injustices in the real world, so his response was actually much kinder than it sounds. He said, "Would it be so bad? You love your sister. And, anyway, your parents could never have pulled that off."
Well, obviously he was right on all accounts, unless my parents knew a document forger. I got up, got ready, and on my way to work I realized something very important.
My sister has actually been standing in for my mother my entire life.
My mom, if that's who she really was, had terrible health. She was only 69 when she passed away, and before that she suffered for many years. If you've ever read anything else I've written, you'll know I talk about my mother. A lot. She left an indelible impression on my soul. She was the very best mother she could be, but she accomplished it because she had my sister to fill in the gaps for her.
Who taught me to vacuum correctly, backing out of the room, so all footprints would disappear? Who taught me how to spray the Pledge on the cloth - never directly onto the furniture? Who taught me how to tie my shoes? Who drove me to appointments? Who taught me the importance of impeccably clean fingernails? Who revealed the wonders of shoe shopping? Who paid me for babysitting when she didn't really need a babysitter? Who took me to Disneyland for the very first time? Who took me prom dress shopping and wedding dress shopping? Who purchased six pairs of custom-dyed stilettos in dusty rose for my bridesmaids and then had to wear those shoes for hours and hours at my side as my matron of honor? Who got me my first office job? Who met me for lunch every week for an entire summer when my boyfriend left on his mission? Who drove me four hours to the airport to say goodbye to said boyfriend? Who sent me flowers in college the weekend of Mother's Week when my mom was too sick to attend? Who never forgot a birthday? Or my children's birthdays? Or my grandchildren's birthdays? You guessed it. My big sister.
She's been there for baby blessings and mission farewells and homecomings and wedding receptions. She sent our missionaries money every month. She handed down family heirlooms and furniture and Grandma's china, and even her baby grand piano.
My children never knew my mother, but they have chiseled a magnificent pedestal and hefted their irreplaceable Aunt Terry atop it.
When our mother died, my sister was the one who called to break the news. When our father died, she called me every day for two weeks to see if I was sleeping okay. When our brother was dying, she slept on the floor at the house with me so we would be close when the time came. And much too recently, when my infant grandson passed away, she was there. She has always been there, filling in the gaps.
Our mother loved ladybugs, so my sister sent me a ladybug bracelet matching hers, so we would always remember the quirky things that made our mother such a wonder.
So, I asked myself the same question my husband had. Would it be so bad? She is the best big sister in the entire world. She's been my stand-in mom, all along. So, Sis, if you've got a big family secret to share with me, I'm totally good with it. It would make perfect sense. And, even if you don't have any DNA confessions to make, I love you, love you, love you, to the moon and back. Thanks for filling in the gaps.
Yorumlar