A sister is so far away, yet still close

By Marlene Sokol, Times ColumnistEditor
In print: Friday, April 18, 2008

Story Tools E-mail this story Contact the editor Print this story Comment on this story Social Bookmarking [+] Digg Facebook Stumbleupon Reddit Del.icio.us Newsvine

ADVERTISEMENT

The day they brought my sister home from the hospital, my parents did something I always encourage second-time parents to do.

They put the newborn on my lap, just for a moment. I was 3, but I still remember it clearly.

My grandmother tells me I said, "I can't wait until she grows up so I can play with her." That I don't remember. But I do remember countless shared experiences, some silly, many out of sheer boredom, the reality of sharing a home and parents and unstructured time. It was the way it is so often: If a friend were around, I'd play with the friend.

Lacking a friend, I'd play with my sister. Late at night we'd have pillowcase races up and down the upstairs hallway.

During a teacher strike in the dead of winter, we played Monopoly and assigned a song to every property on the board.

We had inside jokes and matching dresses. We'd chuckle at our parents' dorky friends, and it was a tremendous relief when she got a best friend of her own, a gangly girl across the back yard named Barbara.

We'd play tennis and I'd embarrass her by lobbing the ball into the next court. Hers was the neat side of the bedroom; I was every bit the slob I am now.

You remember childhood in terms of musical performances and teachers who inspired you, first dates and social catastrophes. You take your siblings for granted. At least I did.

Linda walked in my shadow in her early years. Then we took different paths, made different homes in distant states.

Things that were easy for me were not so easy for her, and I felt guilty.

Yet she excelled at things that I did not, and I fiercely wished she had more self-confidence.

Today my sister is raising two children, struggling at times but making decisions that make me proud. We rarely talk, I'm ashamed to say. She calls when I'm exhausted. I call when she's got a wailing toddler.

It's hard, over the distance, to really be close. There is no more unstructured time.

I let my daughter hold my son when he was born. I'm not sure it helped.

They might not appreciate each other until they are living in different states.

I'd reverse the cycle if I could. But today is my sister's birthday, and it's not too late to tell her I love her.

Happy birthday, Linda.

Let's talk soon.