A sister is The Creator’s way of proving They don’t want us to walk alone.”
I had a big sister once. Though at the time I’m pretty sure she was just a tween. But to my 4-year-old self, she was a gift from the Universe who took me under her wing and showed me the first glimpse of love I truly ever remember. It was 1965/66 and The Rolling Stones “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” was a huge hit. At least it was in our house. I can remember jumping up and down on the couch with Kathy while she belted the lyrics into her air microphone. All I remember singing was “I can’t get no.” over and over. Not sure I could say the word satisfaction. Maybe that was a sign of things to come.
I adored Kathy. She was the best foster sister ever! We used to sit at the kitchen table rolling slices of white bread into tiny balls and then coating them in sugar. She read to me every night from a book called 365 Bedtime Stories. The New Year’s baby always made me smile and no matter how many times I asked her to read the same story, she never tired or made me feel like I was a nuisance. She was a true light in a very dark landscape and I will be eternally grateful to her and her family for showing me such love in the short time I was with them.
sisterKathy
But as I had come to expect, the good times didn’t last long. Tinkerbell, the social worker showed up again and took me away to another place.
Many years later, when we were both moms, I found Kathy’s number. I had thought about her often over the years but doubted I would ever find her again. But as luck would have it, she still lived in the same city. I can’t remember exactly how I found her but Google can be such a good friend. I was so excited when I found her number – excited, nervous, and worried she wouldn’t remember me. It had been 50 years at this point. Time has a way of fading people. But I had to call. I just had to see if it was the same Kathy.
My Kathy.
I called the number on a Saturday afternoon. A woman answered the phone. I didn’t recognize her voice but when I quickly confirmed it was, in fact, my Kathy, she easily and cheerfully remembered me. I was thrilled! We talked for about half an hour. She had her grandchildren with her. I could hear them playing noisily in the background. She said they were all getting ready to go out but she still made time for me. There was a loving kindness in her voice I recognized. I felt my heart swell and a sweet peace settled in. I had found her. She told me how happy she was that I called and that she too had often thought of me over the years. I told her how grateful I was to her for showing me such kindness and joy and that those memories had sustained me for many of the dark years that came after. I asked about her family. Her parents had both passed but her brothers were well. Brothers? I swear I don’t remember any boys. But there were four! Clearly, even then, my focus was on the girl. 😉
And then she asked me a question I had not expected at all.
She asked me if I still wrote.
I was completely taken aback and asked her why she was asking. She told me a story of how whenever groceries were delivered to the house in boxes when one was empty and placed on the floor, I would grab a pencil or crayon and write elaborate stories on the cardboard. Well, as elaborate as a 5-year-old can write. She told me she was sure I would be a writer when I grew up. I almost cried. My need to write has been with me for as long as I can remember but I had never known anyone who witnessed its birth. Another gift my Kathy gave me. In that life-affirming moment, I felt at once validated and as if I was almost being given permission to be a writer. That it was truly my calling and confirmation that I needed to do something much bigger with this gift before I left this mortal coil. When Kathy was telling me this story, a grey-shaded glimpse of a memory surfaced showing me exactly what she spoke of. I felt so warmed by it. That Kathy was telling me made it all the more special.
Very few people walking on either side of this earth know anything about me when I was a child. No one saw me. There are no photos, save one, no stories, no one asking me if I remember this or that. And no one for me to ask. It’s as if all traces of my beginnings have been erased. The longing for identity which was my birthright, somehow got denied me. I’ve struggled with that emptiness for as long as I can remember. It’s hard to feel rooted in a familial way when you have no images or stories or people around you to show you who you are and where you came from. But for a precious moment, which I am still holding on to, a wonderful human came into my life. She saw me. She remembered the child I was. She witnessed the writer blooming as a seedling. Anyone who has ever seen love, admiration, acceptance, or appreciation reflected in a friend or loved one’s eyes knows how transformative that experience can be. Kathy did that for me without even being aware. She gave me the gift of showing me that I matter and created a sacred container full of love, support and goodwill that has stayed with me forever. If we never speak again, I pray that in that one phone call, I was able to tell her adequately enough, just how much she has meant to me, the place she has in my heart, and how grateful I am to have those precious memories.