Space for a Sister

You guys know my brother, Steven?  Well, were you aware that I had a sister too?  Let me tell you HER story.

When I was a toddler, my Mom got pregnant again.  Another little girl. Once mom started sensing her movement, girlfriend barely stopped treading water.  The womb was her personal playground. Then about 5 months along, my sister got quiet and still. In all her activity, she had knotted the umbilical cord around her neck.  Mom delivered this beautiful, perfect girl -10 fingers and 10 toes- already gone to be with Jesus. Her name would have been Mary.

Recently, I’ve been feeling her absence sharply.  Not certain if it's because of relinquishing our Ethiopian daughter dream or Elijah’s increased anticipation over meeting his sister.  But I’ve been thinking of Mary often. Would we be close? Would she have a son Elijah’s age? Would we do living room coffee dates, laughing about a lifetime of inside jokes?

Grief over unrealized hopes or expectations is a slippery thing.  It is difficult to adequately explain that hollowness, the sadness stemming from a relationship that never happened.  The daughter we never adopted. The milestones a child with special needs will never meet. It’s a constant missing, an internal recognition of something lost.

As an adult, watching Mom productively cope with this hard reality is no short of inspiring.  And I’m not blowing sunshine up her skirt either. Listen, my Mom and I get on as well as cats and dogs.  We drive each other cuckoo crazy, usually in the first 5 minutes of being together. But I am freaking proud of her.  Already a part of the counseling ministry at church, she has a strong interest in beginning a grief outreach too. I have no doubt she will. This lady excels at using difficult circumstances as transformative testimony, another opportunity to share her gifts.  Discovered to be a type one diabetic at the age 7, she became a dietician to help implement healthy eating habits in hospital and nursing home patients. In mid-life a breast cancer diagnosis (which she beat) spurred her to start handwriting hope-filled letters for sick and struggling folks.  Our abortive Ethiopia process and the following pain, both prompted (and triggered) her loving Nana heart towards supporting fellow grieving souls. Pretty sure Mary would have been proud of our Mama too.

What I’ve recently realized is that mothering and sistering are VERY similar.  Both desire the best for another by encouraging talents and abilities. They rejoice in the other’s victories and weep for their pain.  They listen with closed lips. Opinions NEVER come before relationship. Tender constructive words are shared from time to time, but this love is the unconditional kind.  Mothers show up, sisters show up. We tease, giggle, and finish the wine. But mostly, we’re simply here. No matter what.

Mother’s day might be a tough holiday for you.  It damn sure is for me. The family cuteness clogging social sites can be a bit stifling, an overwhelming reminder to some of what (or who) we lack.  And while it is easy to focus on the holes, this year I want to thank God for filled spaces. Because I did lose my biological sister, but He gave me a multitude of dear sister friends to satisfy that role until I meet her in heaven.  And my Mama did lose her daughter, but God gave her a handsome son and gorgeous daughter-in-law. These ARE blessings, NOT replacements. Mary, I cannot wait to introduce you to my son and daughter one day. Also, Steve and I agree that you should make room in YOUR mansion for Mom.

My Sisters from other Misters.