“Chance made us sisters, hearts made us friends.”  This quote is at the center of a collage of photographs--spanning twenty-something years--that now hangs in my office.  My sister, Susie, made it for me as a wedding present.  It probably cost very little to make (she is a starving college student, after all), but it means more to me than any of the more “traditional” wedding presents my husband and I received last June. Whenever I look at the collage, it reminds me of my sister and what a true friend she is.  

Susie and I weren’t always buddies.  Far from it, in fact.  We shared a room for nearly fifteen years when we were younger, and at the time I thought I couldn’t have asked for a worse roommate.  She was always around!  When we were kids, she’d “borrow” my dolls without asking.  (And since she was disaster-prone, no toy was safe in her hands.)  If we argued and I wanted to go to my room to be alone, she’d follow me right in.  If I told her to go away, she’d retort right back with, “It’s my room, too!  And I can be here if I want to.”  I’d consult my mother, our mediator, and she usually agreed with Susie.  I suppose being the baby by three years has its benefits.  

When we got older, Susie quit borrowing my toys and started borrowing my clothes.  That was the final straw.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I begged my parents to let me have a room of my own--preferably one with a lock on the door.  The answer was always a resounding “no.”  

“Please?!” I’d beg.  “I’ll sleep in the attic, in the basement, on the front porch...just please don’t make me spend one more night with that hellion!”  

My parents would just shake their heads.  They didn’t agree with each other on much, but for some reason they had a united front on this issue.  “You’re not sleeping in an unfinished attic or basement,” my dad would say.  “And one day, you’ll learn to appreciate your sister,” my mom would chime in.  Huh.  Fat chance, I'd think.  Who could learn to tolerate such an annoying brat?  

And what an annoying brat she was.  She had this habit of doing everything I did. If I auditioned for a play, she’d try out the next day. Choirs, bands, sports teams, dance studios: There was no place where I was safe.  “She looks up to you,” my mom would say.  I didn’t care. I just wanted a piece of my life that didn’t involve my little sister.  When I complained to my mother, she’d just smile and say, “One day you’ll want her around.”  Sure.  

It’s strange how mothers have this creepy habit of being right about everything.  When I was sixteen and my sister was thirteen, we went through a series of life-changing events together that would forever change our relationship.  First, a close friend and member of the church choir we both sang in passed away very suddenly.  It was a huge blow for both of us, and we had to put aside our differences temporarily in order to comfort each other through a difficult time.  Less than a month after the funeral, my parents announced that they were divorcing.  My dad packed up and moved to an apartment in New Hampshire--more than a half hour drive away from our cozy house in Massachusetts.  A year later, he met his future second wife and moved again; this time to Indiana.  This meant we could only see him once or twice a year, as opposed to once every few weeks.  That was hard.  

Those few months changed my relationship with my sister forever.  We started having more heart-to-heart talks as opposed to silly fights.  Over time, she became my most cherished friend.  Even though distance separates us now (she goes to school in Indiana, and I live in Delaware with my husband), we’re closer than ever.  It’s not uncommon for us to have three-hour-long telephone conversations about nothing--just giggling over memories from childhood or high school.  (It’s so common that I don’t let my husband look at our phone bill anymore.)  

She’s the only person who’s been through all of the tough stuff that I’ve been through, and the only person who truly understands me.  And, since life is never without its rough spots--especially when you come from a divorced family--we’re still always there for each other when times are hard.  

Susie and I have shared so much.  She’s been my roommate, my friend, my confidante, and my partner in crime.  We’ve done plays together, gone to amusement parks, sang, and taken long road trips together.  We’ve giggled until our sides hurt, and wiped away each others’ tears.  

Sisters share a special bond.  They’re one of the few (or only) people that have known you since you were toddling around in diapers.  They’ve seen all of your most embarrassing moments (and sometimes love to share those moments at the most inopportune times).  They know your deepest, darkest secrets.  Most importantly, they love you unconditionally.  I’m lucky to be able to say that my little sister is my best friend.  I only wish everyone could be so fortunate.  

Author's Biography

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