As I pulled the pencil from her leg, a million emotions flooded me. I had hurt her badly and I could tell. I was not selfless or sacrificing. I felt so low, but it was mostly for myself, ‘What would Mom do?!’ I wanted to take it back, it all back but it was done. I had stabbed her in the leg with my pencil in a fit of silly anger and she was tears.
“I’m sorry, Nicky! I’m so sorry!” I grovelled to her. I made up lies to cover my own hide. “Please! I didn’t mean to! It slipped!” We both knew it was a lie. “I’ll do anything! Please! Please, please don’t tell mom.”
I was desperate. I felt terribly that I had hurt her. I felt worse for myself as to what my mother would do to me when she discovered what I had done. I had been angry at my sister. She didn’t play the game I had wanted to play. I don't believe I had truly meant to, but still I did it. I took a pencil and drove it into her leg. Thankfully only the tip went in; and to this day, there is a little blue mark to show the world I had purposely hurt her. And no, she didn’t tell mom the truth. I don't know why, but she didn’t. She looked at my tears and my desperate apology and she just took them on faith. We made up a story of how I accidentally hurt her, and it was over. I think mom knows the truth by now, it's been talked about, even in laughter, years since. But just in case….’Mom, I’m too old for spankings now!’
This scene plays out throughout our childhood. A vengeful moment of anger and then pleads of apologies and cover ups. We’d fight, we’d scream, we’d hurl objects at and through each other. But for every tattle my mother heard, there were at least ten she never heard or saw the light of day. We are close in age, close in trials and close in knowledge of each other. We lived the same life and saw each other through the thin and thick of growing up. We developed own sense of character, worth and attitude in the same household; and we play our parts in shaping each other. No one knows the darkest and lightest side of a sister like the other sister.
The days of childish cries of “I hate you!” have turned into adult moments of reality, clinging to each other saying, “I so love you!”
I sit at home tonight, reminiscing in so much. I think of myself and all that I have become and all that I have failed at, and I think of all that know me. I think of those close to me that have me peg a bit, a lot and then I think of who knows my soul; and that is a very short list. Each that does only knows it in a specific way. My husband, a few close friends, my sister and my God. God knows it all, without a shadow of doubt, he knows it better then myself. And while Marc has me pegged pretty well, there’s only one that’s started this journey from the beginning and not only knows my stories, but lived them daily from the start with me. When I tell my tales of whatever it is I might be laying out before me, the only person I can really included in each season is my sister.
When I say something stupid, she knows I know better. When I tell a memory, she’s the only one that can correct it fully. When I’m in the midst of crowds and other women, smiling my smile. Only she can tell if I’m being genuine or can call my bluff. She’s my level, my equal, my shadow, my mirror.
We’ve held each other’s children in our arms and have whispered our hopes they’ll love each other as we have loved one another. I had two boys and she had two girls. I have to wonder will my boys have what her girls will have? I was only raised with a sister to know what that bond feels like, I don’t know how brothers share their bonds. I see the same anger and love in her girls, and while they don’t believe me now, I tell them all the time- don’t worry about it, some day she’ll be your best friend. And I recognize that scoff in their eyes, I hope some days they’ll have girls of their own to reassure of the future soul mate friend they’ll have. I tell my boys, “He’ll be your best friend some day!” And Zachie says, “Yeah, I know”, and he moves on with life. The chaotic, emotional tide that girls seem to ride, doesn’t seem to be as prevalent in boys. Maybe that’s a blessing for me!
But I am blessed I am a sister and I have sister. I know we are train wrecks, emotional and fickle in nature. I know we rage with all we have and we love with all we know. We have been the best and worst of human nature and hurled towards each other. I have said and done things to myself and my sister that has caused pain and utter love. Most of the bad was when I didn’t know any better, but I am sure I have failed her in my adult walk. I haven’t been the best version of an adult that God would’ve had me be! But then, either has she! And without even a breath of worry, I’ve never doubted my sister, the girl with a blue mark in her leg, would be there to share a laugh, a cry, a shoulder, a dollar or even a voice of reason and truth.
She’s told lies for me, she’s told the truth for me, she’s exposed me at my worse and drudged out my best. She’s taken a plane across the country to come retrieve me from my ridiculous decisions and driven day and night to help me find my way home. She’s was there when I’ve poured too much and poured it with me. She’s been there, when it poured out the last drop, helped me wipe up the mess and acknowledge what was, was- and now, it's time for a new future. She’s shared in the beauty of making life joyful, and finding the redemption of a merciful God. She’s stood by me when I said ‘I do’. She sat next to me in the hospital and when my little boy was too small to even hold, and I’m sure I whispered ‘I just can’t’; and she didn’t try to make it all better- she just did what she knew she could do to make it a little better. In the darkest moments of my motherhood, she didn’t judge- instead, she gave me an answered prayer and saw me through the hardest nights. And she has praised me at my best and made me feel I have strength to be a better mom because I have her to emulate.
God gives us gifts and he gives these sometimes in the people he inserts into our lives. We all have regrets, we all have moments we wish didn’t exist, we all have people that were nothing but a waste of time or space. But we all should have the good things in life too, with the best people that God can provide us. We should relish these gifts and humble ourselves to know we are so undeserving of them. In this, we can appreciate them and we can treat them as God would have us; as something more precious than ourselves. My sister is one of the many blessings I am so thankful God saw fit to give me.
A sister can take whatever pain you can hurl at her, and she can see the love you mean for her. She can forgive you and she can lift you. She can allow you to be her voice of reason and forgiveness in her hour of need. She can allow you to share her soul as much as you have allowed her to share yours.
Nicole, thank you, thank you for laughing at your chipped tooth and your blue scar. Thank you for laughing at me when I talk too much, take on too much and get flaky too often. And thank you for allowing me to be one of the only people to get away with calling you Nicky.
