Sisterhood

It's really difficult being alone. Don't get me wrong--as an introvert, I love being alone, but when it comes to family, there is little that is more difficult than having no family. I have never met another person like myself--an only child, of an only child mother who is the daughter of only child parents, and a father who gave me up for adoption before he tragically passed away without me knowing him, and who had two brothers who had no interest in me. My step-father was the only light in the family tunnel by bringing me into the fold of his parents who taught me everything I know and who shaped me into who I am today. 

Looking back on my life, those two people were the only people who ever wanted me in their lives. I have such a strong desire to help those who are close to me. I want to form relationships, and I feel such a pull to make people my family. I give and give and give, hoping that they will see value in me, and before I hang up on any phone call or say goodbye in person, I tell everyone that I love them. And it's because I so desperately do. I'm willing to love anyone who will share their life with me. But through it all, I feel as if the desperation is always on my side, and the person on the other end doesn't really need me. I've seen it over and over in my life--I form relationships through callings, or through being neighbors, or being in the same ward, or through working together, but as soon as I'm removed from the specific situation, I'm the one who keeps reaching out to keep that relationship going. And if I don't reach out, we lose touch because there is no effort on their part. It's easy to feel like I must not be enough when they don't have the desire to continue down life's road with me. But with maturity, I think I've figured out at least a facet of why this happens. All those other people? THEY HAVE FAMILY. 

Many of my contemporaries have mothers or sisters or aunts with whom they are close. I have had several friends who call their mothers everyday. They call them to talk, or to get advice about their kids, or to get help with a Relief Society lesson, or to get a recipe, or to invite them to come visit. When I imagine that kind of relationship, I imagine that I wouldn't need much else. But instead I am constantly lifting an empty cup to my lips, hoping to quench the thirst of having no one. And with that comes the huge of responsibility on both John and me to carry the weight of life ourselves. And with this post, I don't want to lessen what John means to me--as we frequently say to each other, we are all we have, and it's so true. But I imagine (again, I don't know) that there must be something special between women. Shared experiences, shared fears, shared joys. And as I have felt the pain of this recently (more so than normal), I have thought of Mother Eve. If anyone can understand what I feel, it's her. She came to Earth with no earthly mother, no aunts and no sisters. It was just her and Adam. I know how hard it is to be completely alone in forging a path ahead--you never really have any idea if you're doing anything right. Quite frankly, I really hate it. 

But a few years ago, along came Meg. I had met Meg during the few days that I had met my dad back in 1984. She was four years old, and the closest thing I ever had to her in a sister even though we had different mothers. I adored her. Looking back on it now, she was a spunky, confident little thing, not riddled by insecurity and worry as I was at age 14. She had two loving parents, and an older brother, and how settled I felt in their home. Again, when the connection to that family was lost with my father's death shortly after, there were a few follow-up letters to me, but then communication ceased. My step-mother told me years after that she got the impression I didn't love them anymore. This was similar to what my step-father's sister told me as well but in different words (I was "prickly" she said). I look at these moments in time with disbelief now--adults were expecting teenage me who had just experienced my father's death (and subsequent cementing of my life with my abusive stepfather and my negligent mother) to be the strong one. They expected me to act like a rational adult when my entire world was what most would consider a living nightmare. Nobody took the adult role in my life and tried to give me what they thought was best for me. 

And it hasn't changed (again, John is an exception to much of this). Over the past five weeks, I have had (yet again) some serious health issues. It started with a sinus infection which landed me on a large dose of steroids and antibiotics. I had another scary mammogram that was made even worse with a negligent doctor who left me with the wrong referral and two incorrect appointment times (thank goodness I could call John to get the correct referral put into the system within minutes). For the last few weeks, my hair has been falling out as well.  Like, chunks of it fall out when I wash it, and I've cried about it.  I seriously don't know what to do. Two weeks ago, I pinched a nerve in my neck and couldn't move for ten days. And then this past week, I had a screening colonoscopy which left me going diarrhea and projectile vomiting all through the night beforehand. 

But through all of this, there has been one constant (again, besides John): Meg. Meg has known what is going on with me from week to week. That's what's great about her. She checks in every week or two and sets up a time for us to talk on the phone. And believe me, we need to set up the time because we talk for hours. And when we get on the phone, I don't feel like I need to be there for her (although I try to be), but instead I know that she can take some of the weight and worry off of my mind. I can't even begin to describe what a blessing that is to me. I can be exactly who I am. No hiding behind fake concern, and no hiding behind appearing strong. She knows my worries, and she knows my troubles, and she knows the details of my kids' lives (and my own life), and she cares. I guess that's what sisterhood is. I wouldn't actually know since I haven't had a sister for most of my life, but it's the sweetest part of my friendship with her. In fact, it was her getting a colonoscopy in response to our dad having ulcerative colitis, and his mother having Crohn's Disease that pushed me to set up my own appointment. And it's her going to the dermatologist to get her moles checked out that will push me to do the same. Afterall, we both are familiar with the pain and the sadness of having a parent die early, and certainly we don't want to leave our children in the same situation. And just a few days ago, she told me that I need to call up the doctor about my hair. I relish the thought of following in her steps and letting her lead by example. It's a relief to not need to forge my own way again and figure things out for myself. Yes, she has a mother who cares about her and who helps her and who supports her, so maybe I'm getting some of the lateral rays of that motherly sunshine, but whatever the reason, I'm so thankful. Afterall, it's something that our church espouses--sisterhood among women--but it's difficult to find women who want to continue down that road with me. 

I'm thankful for Meg. I'm thankful she's still the spunky 4-year-old she was. I'm thankful that she's thoughtful about my own children in a way that family should be but isn't on any other counts. I'm thankful that she worries about me and my health. I'm so thankful that she is so much more than me so that I can follow and relax a bit on the leadership front, and so that I can think about my own relationship with my girls in a healthy and productive way. I just haven't had anyone ever show me how to do it, and I want to learn so badly so that I can break out of the shackles of the dysfunctional women in my family history. 

When I tell other people about Meg, I call her my "half sister" because I would never want anyone to think that another child had to share in my dysfunctional childhood, and because I would never want anyone to think that Chuck had ruined another life as well. However, in my heart, she is the fullest, most complete, loving sister I could possibly imagine, and she defines what sisterhood is to me.