I see them in my night dreams, two sisters of mine. They are interwoven through my dream stories and sometimes their children are there. Often there are more children than I knew about and the dream story becomes about that.
When I awaken, if I have time, I think about the dream, and wonder if the children represent all the events and tidbits I don’t know about in their lives anymore. It’s odd. I never thought, when I was younger, that I would be a person who doesn’t speak to certain family members.
Yet, looking back, it was inevitable. We couldn’t stay together after what we had survived. I totally blame my mom. Growing up in the narcissistic world of my mother damaged us. I have written about this in the past. I don’t need to do that again. But each of us carried so much pain as we grew older.
I have many days that my older sisters don’t enter my thoughts. That’s what happens when you recover from relationships. It hurts really, really bad, and then time heals and it hurts less and less. But, when I do think of them, I wonder what the world would be like if we had been able to keep close. If I could be a part of their children’s lives.
My younger sister and I are close friends and I am so grateful for that. I always loved having sisters and I hold onto her with all the love and support I can.
One of the olders and I text or speak sometimes, briefly. When my mom was dying, we spoke on the phone and as she cried, my heart melted. I still care. But we are careful. We know that any conversation has the potential for misinterpretation and misunderstanding. Too many feelings, too many hurts in the past, to ever trust again completely.
I never speak to my oldest sister. She sees me as judgmental and disapproving. A few years ago, before the final split, she called my younger sister and told her to give me a message. She actually sent a threat through another sister. Sigh. It’s sad. My husband and I took a few moments to remember the good times. Then we blocked her on everything.
I always think of them on Thanksgiving though. We celebrated Thanksgiving together for many years. On Thanksgiving, we danced. All the time. Growing up to Motown beats, we danced. Danced and laughed.
This year was, of course, a quiet Thanksgiving.
I danced and I wondered if any of them were dancing too. My Dad would always dance with us too, and I have so many happy memories of that.
And I missed them so much.
Do they remember we laughed? Do they remember we danced?
Please scroll down and share your thoughts. Have you had experiences like this?
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