It’s my sister’s birthday today. She’s 3,000 miles away in a far sunnier climate in Southern California. Some of my favourite memories are when I lived with her for a time and we drove around in her BMW convertible nearly getting sunstroke and laughing our heads off. We used to also fly–did I mention my sister is one of those people that can act like a stunt person but still look like a super model in heels?– to Reno or Las Vegas in her small plane and since I was a poor theatre artist at the time, was thrilled to just get a seat beside her.
It’s been many years since we spent a birthday together. As you get older, it weighs in your chest a little, like an emotional anchor that can’t get pulled in, that ties you to where you were as children, yet is also the marker of time passing; the aging of our sisterhood now lies in this deep sea place, where only we know what treasure is buried there.
Digital happy birthdays, facebook wishes, emailed hallmark greetings will never be the measure of my love. Instead, sister, feel its weight, tethered there, from our shared bedroom to our shared tears, for it is a true and sacred thing.
Happy Birthday my sister. I am always here, waiting for a seat beside you, entering into winds unknown.