My sister, my friend.

In life people cross paths for a reason, a season or a lifetime, as the saying goes.  My sister and I were destined to be together.  We were adopted thirteen months apart from different backgrounds.  This fact was never disclosed to us by our adoptive parents.  My sister came home to me and I apparently did not appreciate the intrusion as I sent her hurtling down the staircase on a tray and while she cried at the foot of the stairs, I squirted washing up liquid in her eyes!  As time went by, I got over my jealousy and we grew as close as siblings can be.  Our upbringing was strict, almost Victorian, and we relied on each other for comfort.  We made up games, we adventured into the bush behind our house, we danced and sang and spent time with our Dad on the beach.  Our lives also revolved around ballet and music eisteddfods, school work and piano exams.  Our Mother expected nothing less than perfection and there was little enjoyment on the trips home. An angry cloud of disapproval often hung in the car about things most petty.  Like toes not pointed enough or slouching.  I think this is the reason why we both developed a such a whacky sense of humour to help us through.   As young girls and then teens, Dad was ill and we were eventually sent to boarding school. I don't think we really realised how much we lent on each other in those days or how much insidious interference our Mother caused to our impressionable psyches. We discovered by accident around the ages of fourteen and fifteen that we were adopted. I tried to be philosophical, my sister was devastated. We knew instinctively not to say we knew, but it came out. It was a difficult time, a true elephant in the room as it was a taboo subject. The roots we thought we had were severed and we were ungrounded. Our behaviour deteriorated. As young adults we began to spend less time together. This in part due to natural pathfinding and the death of our beloved Dad. My sister moved out early, I stayed at home. We wrote long letters to each other, but things were not the same. We were lonely for each other, but a subtle rift had developed. Unbeknown to us, Mother sought to divide and conquer by playing one sister against the other. For what reason, we will probably never know. As the years went by, we lived our lives. We married, had children and found our respective careers. My Mother and sister immigrated to New Zealand. This before I had access to email so regular communication wasn't that easy. After some particulary nasty accusatory behaviour from my Mother I felt it necessary to finally sever her negative influence and never spoke to her again. Sadly my sister became a casualty of this because I was made out to be the villain. When our Mother died, I realised just how dire the situation was. Our sisterhood was in tatters. We could barely speak to each other all due to the disinformation campaign Mother had put in place. Some tentative messages via cell phone, then a phone call and slowly, putting the pieces together, we began to rebuild. It was a time of real elation and deep sadness. Elation for me because I had my sister back and sadness that a person who called herself a mother had caused such unnecessary harm. In 2012 I travelled to New Zealand to see my sister after ten years of silence. For the first few days we were a little wary of each other, but then we just found our old course. Like a river knows where to flow, we did too. We spoke of the happy memories, we spoke of the dark days and together we buried her ashes, we buried our past. That was a day of great significance, a new beginning for us both. I rent the sky asunder with echoing blasts from my Dad's double-barrelled shot gun. We vowed never to be apart in spirit, ever again. Goes to show that blood is not always thicker than water. My sister, my friend how did I cope without you for so long.