A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double. ~Toni Morrison
I live a long way away from my sister, across oceans and timezones. When I am going to bed she is just finishing work. When I am waking up she is still slumbering (actually this is often the case when we are in the same timezone). I miss her. A lot.
Growing up the age gap (five years) between us seemed vast. We were sisters but we really were in different timezones, back then. We couldn’t quite catch each other up. When she started highschool I drove away to University. And then when she was in University I had already fled New Zealand to ‘find myself’ in the thrills and mishaps of travel. It wouldn’t have been surprising to find ourselves with little in common.
My sister and I sound the same. On the phone, people mix us up. Our humour has the same kind of rhythm. She knows when to give me a cuddle and when to leave me to stew. She is thoughtful and honest and smart and funny. Her sulky, tantrum-face is kind of hilarious. Her cooking will leave you begging for more and falling in love. She is generous. She holds her head high. She makes me laugh. She is beautiful. Did I mention that I miss her? Terribly?
In the midst of moving and things, once again, changing, I think of my sister. All those many miles removed. Through everything that shifts and sways she is my constant. I am a lucky girl to have her in my life. By chance we are family, by choice we are friends. She is my home. I love you, Kenny.