I remember her as the oldest. She was serious and a little untouchable for
me. She had long black hair. I remember the hair because she would lay it
over the ironing board and “press” it sometimes before she went out. Shiny, straight, flowing, black hair. I thought she was beautiful. At one time we shared a room and she
decorated it with creative talent – the beautiful flowered material she made
the drapes with, she then cropped and attached to the front of the dresser
drawers. I was very impressed!
I knew she was courageous, even though I was quite
young. I had proof. One day, when dad was in the washroom she
crept outside with a pail of water.
Positioning herself exactly right, she swept her arms back, and then
forward. The water hurled from the pail
perfectly toward the window and made a strange noise as in flew through the
screen. The next sound was a startled
scream from the man we all feared. She
had actually thrown a pail of water on our dad!
I couldn’t believe my eyes. It
wasn’t long after I saw her sprinting across the lawn and toward town. She was courageous and certainly not stupid
enough to hang around for the aftermath!
I think I was almost 8 when she got married and left. Of course I saw her after that when they came
to visit – with their precious new baby boy, then his oh so expressive sister. I remember Linda as an attentive,
conscientious mother. Huey and Angie
were always dressed in lovely outfits and they played together as best friends. I don’t actually remember seeing them one
without the other!
Sisters. The word
conjures up so many visuals, expectations; fantasies. My reality was separateness, longing, and
childhood memories fraught, disjointed; filled with the chaos that was our life
then.
This week though, much of that was transformed.
Linda had arrived in Ontario July 4 for a four week
holiday. Mostly, understandably, she
would spend time with her children and grandkids in Brantford. I had not expected to see her much beyond our
family picnic at our brother, Danny’s place.
That was a lovely time. Her son
and daughter came with her grandkids – it was great to see everyone. It was “family time” with lots of laughter
and good food. The following week, Ky
and I drove to Carol’s one night to connect and I was satisfied. We’d had our usual, polite visit and I wasn’t
expecting more.
Then, Linda made a choice to come to our home for a few
days. Ky was scheduled to be up North
for the week and so it was just Linda and I.
I was glad she was here, but at the same time I wasn’t quite sure what
to expect. We’d never actually spent
much time alone together as adults. What
would we talk about? What did we have in
common?
Our time was casual, somewhat cautious initially. As the days unfolded we talked more, sat
longer and relaxed. I saw myself in
her. “Debbie, would you like your feet
rubbed?” she offered. I quickly
responded “no thanks” without thinking about it. It was something I would offer.
She spent time ironing our laundry and although she stated
how much she loved ironing, I experienced it as an expression of her love as
well. There was something intimate and
innately kind about her picking up our things and smoothing them out with her
hand before sliding the hot iron over them.
Then, deliberately, things were folded carefully and set in a neat
pile.
I felt her vulnerability.
I listened as she shared her thoughts, reflections, feelings and
fears. I saw myself in her. I talked about myself in response to her
questions and she listened. Many times
she mused, “I never knew that.”
We drove through Brucefield and looked at our old
house. We bought an ice cream at the
Farmers’ Dell. “I worked here too you
know …….. for two days!” she offered between licks of her cone and with raised
eye brows for expression. I saw myself
in her. Watching her, I was aware of a
tug in my heart. Perhaps she was not
untouchable for me. Maybe we could
connect.
We talked more. She
made me dinner. I made her dinner. We shared more. We hugged.
I saw myself in her.
I had compassion. I felt her
appreciation. I admired her. I felt loved.
My heart expanded and I saw her.
I loved her.
The day before Ky returned and Linda would leave I was able
to tell her what was happening for me. I
was falling in love. Not unlike my
experience when Raymond was born; I was so surprised by the depth of my caring
and the unconditional nature of the bond.
Our love was always there I think, a seed of potential buried
in the dark soil of our childhood….sprouting now, fresh, new and eager.
