Sibling Sisters

I own a book about siblings, but not one about sisters.

I only have one sister, but what I know could fill a book.

When I was born two days before my sister's second birthday, the story didn't end with "we lived happily ever after." As an adult I have often thought that I stole my sister's birthday. As a toddler, I am sure she thought I stole her parents.

Our parents gave us the greatest gift when they gave us each other. All of our grandparents and both of our parents are dead. My sis is the only living person who has known me since I was born. She validates my history. I treasure our relationship. We share the haunting power of memories; they're more forceful than any force could be. For my first 11 years we occupied the same bedroom.

Today she runs a business, a K-9 Kamp, from her home in Portland, Oregon. She has converted her home--three city lots--into an organic farm; she grows everything and cooks, bakes, and cans organic. She's amazing.

When I am with her she not only reminds me of Grammie Teele, she reminds me of our mom, who my sis did not get along with. Mom loved to farm and cook. My sis reminds me of Dad because he knew no strangers and he knew something about every subject, so does she. She reminds me of my daughter--they both are "can-do" people and have an abundance of energy.

When we were growing-up we shared every birthday--one cake with two names. We were given identical gifts in different colors--dollies, rocking chairs, bicycles, transistor radios. We still can't believe our parents did that. She insists she doesn't celebrate birthdays anymore, but she knows I do. For my November 17th birthday she sent me a card every day for the month preceding it.

We were never best friends; however, after thirty years of silence, we've been communicating and visiting again for the past year. We're closer now than we've ever been. In just a few days we'll be vacationing together. I know that life offers no guarantees, but one quarantee is that she'll always be my sister.