Tag: Sisters

A Short Story… Snippets and Memories

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“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you;” Isaiah 66:13a

The pink acrylic alarm clock sat beside the bed she shared with her sister. It was her favorite with the edges around the face of the clock. She would sit and hold it, rubbing her fingers in the indentations.

She knew it was about to go off as she slowly moved from dreaming to wakefulness. In the background she could hear noise, she knew she must still be sleeping.

The alarm went off. Reaching for the clock, she felt someone pick it up to turn it off. Her older sister was gently setting it back down. She quietly said, “Just go back to sleep. There is no school today.” At this time, their youngest sister stirred and sat up.

Her older sister went to the top of the stairs and said, “Dad, they’re awake.”

The next few minutes were life altering. Confused, the girl sat up as their Dad said, “Mom died last night. You won’t be going to school this week.” Her younger sister started crying. I sat there, confused. I probably was crying, but I don’t remember. I do remember thinking it wasn’t a very funny joke to tell us.

As I sat there, the surroundings became clear. It was still a bit dark, it was fall. The lights from the kitchen seemed so bright. The voices, I wasn’t dreaming. I heard familiar voices of aunts and uncles. I had had a feeling that this day was approaching for the past month, although I never said anything. I was afraid to ask the question for fear that I might get the dreaded answer. That morning, reality slammed into our lives. Day One of not having a mother.

Life changed. That week we went to our Aunt’s house. We roamed around the house while she busied herself in the kitchen. We played with our cousin’s pom poms from high school. She was newly married and it all seemed so romantic to me. We gazed at our cousin’s basketball trophies. He was my favorite. He made me laugh.

We spent another day with another aunt. She let us make chocolate chip cookies. We didn’t add the salt to the recipe and she knew it right away. I never add salt now without thinking about her.

The funeral home was always packed. So many people leaning down to either pat our heads or shed a tear while we were there. We were bored. How many times can you nod your head while someone tells you they are sorry for your loss?

I was 11. That in between stage. I had teenage style of dresses, but could only wear ankle socks. It was humiliating to me. Classmates came into the funeral home. They would stand and stare, not sure what to do or say. I learned the art of small talk that week. I dislike small talk.

The day of the funeral was dark and drizzling. It was like being in a living dream. Motions happened, we went through them, behaving exactly like we were told. As we left, an older aunt lost her underwear and left them on the floor of the church. How bizarre that was and we still laugh about that.

The wake (we’re Irish) was a release for all who were there. Uncles handed us money, “Go to the store, get some ice cream for yourselves.” The neighborhood store must have done a record business as I recall getting back to the house only to have another uncle put money into a cousin’s hand with an order to go to the store and have fun.

Time moved at a snail’s pace but also it flew by. Family left and we girls learned to adjust. Some days in the beginning were okay, others not so good. My older sister was a rock, she guided and kept my younger sister and I moving. We three girls raised ourselves as best as we could. We are survivors.

I don’t know why this all came flooding back to me tonight, but I needed to write about it. The days of no Mother have been a lifetime. Snippets and memories sometimes rush in like a high tide. Other times the memories are still. Above all, though, I am grateful for my sisters. I am grateful for our Dad who was thrust into single parenthood in a time where wives did the bulk of raising the kids.

Life is interesting. Growing up it was normal for us. Normal is different for each person. God has a plan and a purpose for us. The snippets and memories have shaped me according to God’s plan for my life.

Those We Grow Up With

Published on by marycatherinethomas4 Comments

“I could never love anyone as I love my sisters.” —Little Women film adaptation (1994)

I am a middle child of three. My sisters and I raised one another. It was our life and it was our normal. We have wonderful memories of the years we grew up together.

Yes we fought as sisters do. We laughed and were silly at times. We had inside jokes that we can still recall. We would sneak each other’s clothes, make-up and sometimes shoes.

My younger sister and I would play with the ‘grown up ‘ things of our older sister, her long gloves, her eye shadows. We looked at her prom dresses.

I married in 1975 and moved away. I missed decades with my sisters. Life with them was long distanced. I couldn’t do much at all. Snail mail was our only connection, except on weekends when rates were cheaper for long distance calls.

Email, text messages, cell phones have changed that. It’s wonderful. We all live apart from one another. Different states in different parts of the country is not how we dreamed it would be. We thought we would marry and live on the southside of our town, within walking distance. I often wonder how that would have been.

There are conversations we have where you feel a part of what they are doing. When my younger sister is walking her dog, I have done that with her, both physically and while we are talking on the phone. Those times as she says she is in the car heading home, I almost want to say, well, what should we do for dinner? It seems so natural to continue.

Last night I had such a conversation. The kind where you go beyond relaying news and weather. The kind of conversation where you want to keep talking into the still hours of the night. Talking about everything under the sun and nothing at all.

As I climbed into bed last night I thanked God for the blessing of my sisters. I know they are always there and would do anything for each of us at the drop of a pin. But there are times when although the knowledge is there, a hunger for a hug and a squeeze is what is needed.

Psalm 139:13 says,”For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.” (NKJV) This is one of my favorite scriptures. It reminds me that our Lord knows me intimately. As He formed me in my mother’s womb, He formed my sisters. He knows them intimately and He created us and put us together as family. His plan for us as sisters is still going on. Time, distance, life separates us, but the bond of being sisters is so much greater than all of that.

I am a middle child. I am blessed to be between two precious women. Thank you Jesus.

Blessed

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“Wherever you go and whatever you do, you will be blessed.” Deuteronomy 28:6 (NLT)

There are not many times when I actually think about how blessed I am. It is usually after an event or trial where I will look back and realize that the hand of God was upon the situation and He was blessing it.

Today, although nothing is happening and we have nothing planned, I feel blessed. I can’t even say I am in a particularly great mood either. I have grumbled a lot today. I have felt lazy most of the day. My outward expression has not been made up of smiles either.

But today, deep inside of me, I feel like I have been and continue to be blessed. I have talked with my sisters and it was like a lazy summer day when we were young and we could kid with each other and just be sisters. I have written some things and felt like the words have been there even if my brain was trailing off in another direction. I have been blessed.

I hope as you read this, you will feel blessed also and know that our Lord will bless us daily. We just have to look for it within ourselves.

Sisters

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I just looked up quotes on sisters. I thought that would be a nice way to start off this post. Unfortunately they were all saccharine sweet and I could see both of my sisters roll their eyes, followed by a , “yeh, right.” I could see that because that is what I just did.

I love my sisters. They center me and keep me grounded. After all, when you grow up with siblings your life is pretty much bare before them. It’s all fair play.

I can remember my older sister giving us encouraging talks while walking to school after our Mom died. She kept us going, she kept up our spirits. She was our cheerleader.

I also remember going into her closet after she left for high school and we still had time before my younger sister and I had to leave for our school. Her make up was free game, along with any sweaters that I could sneak on, like her pink mohair sweater.

My younger sister and I shared a room, and a bed. If one of us cried the other had the shoulder to lean on. If thunder and lightening scared one, the other was strong, even if they really weren’t inside.

I taught my younger sister to climb a tree, forgot to tell her how to get back down. We all went to movies that we didn’t tell our Dad we went to, (Bond movie, Godfather movie). We each had secrets that we shared.

Yes, one of those quotes would be nice and sweet, but the truth is that sisters (or any siblings) are much greater than a quote you can read.

My sisters could drive me crazy, I could drive them crazy. We could fight like cats and dogs, but no one better say anything about either of my sisters.

As a child, I could never figure out how my parents could be so close to my aunts and uncles.I know now, they were siblings, they knew where scars came from, how windows were broken, who ate the last piece of cake, and why things were thrown out.

Recently in one of our sister posts, I asked my younger sister a question, it made her laugh and the two older ones, we laughed. God gives us lots of gifts through a life time. I think sisters are both a precious gift and part gag gift, we know how to push buttons and make jabs that should not be made.

Today is my older sister’s birthday. The older she gets the more I love her. Yes, I do realize that the older she gets, the older I am. Our younger sister is still the baby of the family, so although she is only two years younger than me, in our minds we feel we must protect her. Plus, when I see her in my mind, she is just out of college.

My sisters have been in my heart so much lately. I am so grateful for them and for the lives we have had together and apart. Happy Birthday dearest Dottie. I wouldn’t be me without you.

No Regrets

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My mind has been scattered this afternoon. I sit here at my desk and ask the Lord what I should write. I do this each time I sit to write a post on my blog. To the right of me on the desktop are books, varied in interest. My desk is in our guest room so the books are there for whoever stays long enough to sit and read.

My thoughts are cluttered as I think about some conversations I have had, to what to take to the church potluck on Sunday, to wondering how our granddaughter is doing with her broken wrist. Like they say, women have spaghetti for brains, one thought touches another, touches another.

To the left of me on my desk are my journals. I go to them for ideas and memories many times.

Today I picked up one from 1993. I read an entry from November 8th. My Dad passed away suddenly on November 6th, 1993. The entry described the events leading up to Dad’s death, describing my last conversation with him. At the time, I felt it was important to chronicle this. I am so glad that I did. At the end of the passage I wrote the following, “I have no regrets”.

Family relationships are complicated. Even though my sisters and I were raised in the same house by the same father, we are each unique. We sometimes don’t understand one another, we can still squabble at times. But, there is a bond deeper than we can understand. It is the bond of family. We are knit together by something none of us can explain. The same holds true to our Dad. Each of us can see things so differently about him. We can remember things differently.

I knew at the time of my Dad’s death that there would come a time when I would question that last conversation with him. I would wonder if I had said enough, had I said too much or too little. I knew that regret may follow maybe not immediately, but time afterwards. That is why I wrote no regrets.

I have read that part of my journal many times. Sometimes they are just words. Today they hit me almost 29 years later. Again, I think it is that unexplained thread that holds families together.

My sisters and I each live in a different state. When we were little we thought that we would live close to one another, maybe next door or at least a block or two away. We have each settled miles from one another. We don’t see each other often. We talk, but not every day or even weekly. But, that bond. The bond that keeps us connected, keeps us together.

Father, I thank You today for my sisters. Thank You for the shared experiences and those that we went through alone. Father, I ask that You rain down blessing upon blessings for my sisters. May they find comfort, solace, courage and strength today. Keep them in the fold of Your arms. Thank you for placing our family together, You have had a plan and a purpose for all of us, let us live without regrets. Amen.

My Three Mothers

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“Direct your children onto the right path,
    and when they are older, they will not leave it.” Proverbs 22:6 (NLT)

Most people have one mother. I was blessed to have three women whom I consider a mother to me.

The first, Elizabeth, gave birth to me. She taught me how to walk, eat, when to sleep, talk. She gave me life and I like to think my sense of humor. She would talk with me while sitting on our porch, she encouraged me to write. She truly gave me roots and wings. She moved to heaven when I was eleven. She established me in this world.

My second mother was really my older sister, Dottie. She was fifteen when our mother passed away. Her childhood was cut short. She became the mother figure to both myself and my younger sister. She guided me through my teen years, giving me insight and ideas. We didn’t always see eye to eye, and I often wonder if my mother had survived cancer, if we would have gotten along. Maybe it was my obstinate ways that caused conflict. Dottie was there for me in heartbreaks and victories in school and she cheered me on the days that looked bleak. I would not have had the experiences I did in high school had it not been for her.

I married young. When I first started dating Dale, his mother did not like me. She made that fact well known. Eventually, though, we both softened in our approach to each other. She didn’t have a daughter and I didn’t have a Mom, so together we planned our wedding, giving her the experience of a daughter and me having a Mom to share the excitement with.

My mother-in-law, Marietta, became a Naomi to my Ruth. “But Ruth replied, “Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God.” Ruth 1:16 (NLT) When she moved to heaven, grief for her was what I experienced as an eleven year old.

I have been fortunate to have the love and encouragement of three beautiful women in my life. They have taught me to grow, to learn, to accept and respect. I thank my Lord for each of them.

Easter Monday

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Have you ever had a day that you dread? Easter Monday is that day for me. Somehow, as a growing child I would have mishaps on that day.

I can remember my parents saying they were going to tie me in my bed so that no harm could come to me. Of course, they were joking.

Two incidents come to mind quickly when I see Easter Monday approaching. The first required an emergency room visit. My sisters and I were off school, watching mid-morning television, eating our Easter basket goodies and drinking pop (soda, coke, sody-pop, soft drink I have heard them all). Our mother was on the phone talking with a friend. My older sister asked me to go get her more to drink. I said no. She knew I would do it anyway, so she tossed her glass at me. Neither of us thought anything would happen. But, somehow the glass hit just the right way on my knee and exploded, sending chards into my knee. We both panicked and we didn’t want Mom to know what had happened. We slid by her, and went to the bathroom, I am certain she noticed that blood was running down my leg, but we were determined. As my sister was attempting to place band-aids over my knee, our Mother appeared in the bathroom door. I then went to the emergency room where our family physician removed the glass and commented that they were very pretty. They were blue and white glasses. I am certain we were corrected, but we were just being kids.

A few years went by. It was evening on Easter Monday. My sisters and I were outside, shoe-less of course. Again, my older sister asked me to go get her shoes, so she could investigate something. I obliged and ran down our sidewalk in the back of our house. I don’t know how, but, somehow I tripped, slid across the cemented back porch and the aluminum screen door stopped me, but not before I dented in the bottom part of the door with my head. No emergency room visit that time, but no school the next day either.

I occasionally hear about my adventures on Easter Monday, but it is few and far between. In jest I was referred to as Grace. All legs and feet and no coordination.

I smile as I write these memories. I can still recall the glass being removed and the doctor and my Mom laughing at our antics. I can still remember being stopped by screen door and hearing my Dad say, she dented my door.

These are the things that make parents go grey. They are also the stuff of great memories.

“And do everything with love.” 1 Corinthians 16:14 (NLT)

Did we sisters do everything in love? No, of course not. We are a real family. But, we are fiercely devoted to one another, we have each other’s back. The Lord created our family. It was not always easy for us, but, we survived and flourished. Today I would not run to get her shoes, but I would most likely trip at some point. Grace still exists, but now I pass it off to old age.

Resident Aliens

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“We are strangers, we are aliens, we are not of this world” Petra

In early June of 1976 we boarded a plane at San Francisco International airport. We were heading to Japan. I had never taken an international trip before and had no idea what was in store for me. I was scared and apprehensive of what the next three years held for me. I was also excited for a new adventure with my husband of of 17 months. Together we found our seats, and buckled up for our trip.

Several hours later I looked out to see brilliant blue waters below me. We were descending to land. I looked over to Dale (my husband) and asked if we were there already. He smiled and said, “No dear, we are in Honolulu” . I had no idea that the flight would be so long. We had a 45 minute layover there and I said I wanted to breathe Hawaiian air. At that time we could get off the plane and go outside, no security checks, no TSA, just a terminal with doors to go through. We walked outside and smelled the fresh Hawaiian air. Something I thought I would never do. We came back inside and bought an ice cream bar from a vending machine. Vending machines were the only thing that was available, no restaurants like we have now. We got back to our seats ready for the next leg of our journey. That has been my only Hawaiian adventure.

The plane itself was filled mostly with military folks going to a new duty station. We were all young, early twenties and some ‘older folks’ who were in their thirties. There was a party atmosphere on the plane as one of the wineries in California had provided wine for the second leg of the trip. As we drew near to Japan airspace the crowd in the plane was in full tilt party mode. We had all had wine, we had a buffet, we were becoming friends.

It was a rainy evening when we touched down at Haneda airport in Tokyo. We taxied to a stop and the plane grew silent. We had landed and reality hit us all. We had filled out the forms for what we were bringing into the country, and we were ready to head to customs. At the door of the plane, I hesitated, afraid of the next step. Dale gave me a gentle nudge and I started down the stairs. We stood on the tarmac and looked at the signs. Both were in Kanji with English translation below. The first sign said ‘residents’ the second ‘aliens’. Everyone hesitated. Here we were aliens. We did not belong to this country. This was not our home. I will never forget that feeling. I knew I would be there for three years. The bottom line was I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my sisters. I needed to see them. I needed reassurance and hugs. Instead, my husband held out his hand and guided me into the terminal. The first step, done.

Obviously, we made it through customs and met our sponsor from the base who greeted us and got us to our final destination, Yokosuka. Our sponsor became a dear friend who got us settled and ready for what would become one of the greatest adventure of my life.

It was in Japan that I would become a born-again Christian. It was there that I began to realize that we are all aliens on this earth. Our true home for those of us who trust our Lord with our lives, is in Heaven. We are just passing through. We are resident aliens.

II Corinthians 5:1-5 says, “For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less.” (the Message)