You see, I’m the baby. Spoiled to the core. It’s all that nurturing and lovin’ that make me who I am (real “wind beneath my wings” type stuff). My sister was about 13 years when I was born, so I sometimes felt like an only child with her as a second parent to my mom. They brought me up to be a thinker, to question everything. More importantly, they always insisted I learn to make my own way in the world. To this day, Mama constantly tells me, “God bless the child that’s got his own.”
Being co-parented by my mother and sister wasn’t always a breeze. My sister and I often butt heads as we tried to figure our sister-sister and caretaker-child roles. Boundaries were murky. So, when I got “my own,” I made great strides to show the world that I could do it all and that I could do it all alone. I somewhat distanced myself from my mother and sister. I still spoke with and saw them regularly, but I never hesitated to remind them that “I’m grown!”
During my undergrad days, my sister began to face a number health issues. I was able to ignore some of her struggles while I was away at college. When I returned home last summer to prep for graduate school, I could no longer ignore her or be in denial about what was happening. Almost a stranger, she had not been herself for quite sometime. She wasn’t happy and she rarely spoke. It was hard to bear witness to that. Though she wouldn’t give much insight on her health problems or changes in mood, I did what I could to offer support. I would lay in bed with her. Sometimes I’d talk, maybe tell a joke or gossip. Most times I’d just be still. Sometimes you don’t need words to express love. I believe that in our own way, my sister and I reconciled the differences between us. I was thankful for the healing and for the time to show gratitude to someone who had always taken care of me.
Initially, returning home made me feel somewhat like the little girl who always needed approval or feedback before making a decision. My family and I worked on our relationships with each other, though, and we all became more comfortable with my new “adult” self.
I didn’t have long to reflect with my (re)new(ed) family. After about 6 months in my hometown, I moved AGAIN. This time to a city (Washington, DC) way larger than what I’m accustomed to. I welcomed the challenge. A new city, with new people and a new graduate program would be just what I needed to really “get my life together” - a journey on which I always find myself.
My sister wasn’t up for the trip to DC, but she helped me pack and made sure to wake me up on moving day. She also hugged me goodbye before waving me off. It was my mother and an uncle who helped me with moving in, etc.
To say the least, the transition was tough. I didn’t really know anyone and it was hard getting back into college mode. I did my best to grow my social circle and develop better study habits. It wasn’t all loneliness and work, though. I became fast friends with a few classmates and spent as much time as possible exploring my new home. School work was becoming a breeze as well. And that’s all within the first month.
So, nothing really to complain about. I was adjusting. Nothing I couldn’t handle, until...my sister died.
(it rained that day)
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