Back in the days when Batman, Bonanza and Bewitched ruled
television and Bazooka and Boston Baked Beans ruled the
candy stores, a young couple in Columbus, Ohio started raising a family. I came
along first, followed by three more girls—and the couple became (whether
intentional or not) a kooky family of six.
Naturally, the four sisters tormented each other ruthlessly,
tattled, screamed and cried—yet grew up to be besties. (Besties with a knack
for telling the painful truth to each other, but hey—besties, nevertheless.)
Life took us in four completely different directions, molding four very
different women. We still love a few of
same things, still attempt to control each other, try to avoid talks that
center around politics (we’ll, most of us do J) and still argue over who is
the REAL oddball of the family. (I’m pretty sure it’s me, but no one is saying
it out loud.) And we still share a sense of humor that makes us snort out loud
at things that no one else on the planet would ever find humorous. Ever.
Last year during a routine biopsy to remove a small bump above
my eye – I received some not-so-routine results. The initial diagnosis: some
kind of serious cancer was emanating from somewhere deep inside my body. If you’ve never stood toe-to-toe looking at
cancer, I can tell you that it moves into your head and instantly takes up
residency with its bullying fear. I went
through six frightening weeks of every kind of medical test imaginable before
undergoing surgery to remove the mole. The good news: the initial diagnosis
turned out to be wrong.
But here is the big thing I (re)discovered during that time:
my sisters had my back at every single step of that scary walk. And in a big way. Susie took me
to each and every doctor’s appointment, rearranging her schedule to be with me
and hold my hand. She brought me books on healing, fresh organic produce,
stress drops and iced teas (my drink of comfort). Megan, my youth minister sister, prayed
fervently for me with her Moms’ group, put me on the prayer chain and led her
precious little family in praying rosaries on my behalf. Judy called and emailed me from NY, sent me a book by my favorite author for recovery reading and even
offered me a kidney (noting that her liver was probably not much use after
years of drinking red wine J).
I guess, in some ways, I’d always taken the bond with my
sisters for granted. Growing up, I just assumed that everyone had that
with their siblings. But they don’t. I wish I had a dollar for each time
another woman has met us, witnessed our magical bond then said … “I wish I had
a sister like that” or “I wish I was a Brown girl.” I’m not making this up. In
fact, we’ve heard it so many times that we started donning the title, “Honorary
Brown Girl” to those ladies that really “get us.”
Lol. Even when I write “Get us” … I check myself wondering
how I was blessed enough to have been born into this exclusive sisterhood, even
if I am the family oddball. I’ll take it. Any. Given. Day.
