I’m not sure what makes someone like a sister to me, rather than a friend. My sister and I are close, but not as close as some sisters. I know her really well, but don’t really know what’s in her head, and she probably finds me a puzzle too.
In a way, one of the best things about having a sister is getting to be close to someone who is not really that similar to you. Maureen is extremely level-headed, practical, organized and hard-working. I’m a bit of a space cadet, inclined to laziness, flights of fantasy and finding reality rather a chore. Mo used to say that she’d support me as some sort of starving, insane artist like Theo van Gogh did for his brother, Vincent. For a while I thought this was a great plan. Then at some point I started to wonder about the danger of giving into a helpless role. Why couldn’t I be the artist who figures it all out, with minimal help?
In any case, the other beauty of having a sister is knowing she will always be there for me, in case I starve or go insane. When I was writing my will and had to choose the person to pull the plug if i were brain-dead, I chose my sister over my husband because it felt like she’d be making sure she served my interests, did what she thought was best for me, rather than going along with whatever medical advice was given to her (my husband tends to stick with rules and authority).
I’ve never quite understood my husband’s relationship with his brothers. I never knew his older brother, even though I’ve been with Ted for over 23 years. His older brother was a hermit who lived near Rochester, NY and we never seemed to go in that direction.
So years went by and they did talk a bit by email and gradually we heard about his issues with anxiety, and using hard drugs to self-medicate. Then 3 years ago he took some painkillers laced with fentanyl, stopped breathing and wound up in the hospital with severe brain damage. He died a week after his overdose. Ted never wants to talk about it, and he seemed subdued but not sad. He kept saying they weren’t close and never really talked to each other. It seemed so sad that brothers could grow up with almost no bond at all. The same is the same with his younger brother, who I have met but didn’t like much, since he seemed selfish and a poser. At some point I got the feeling he was gay and mentioned it Ted, who became very upset at the idea. Not because he is homophobic but simply because he thinks I’m wrong, and it’s unfair for me to suggest such a thing. In any case they haven’t spoken for about 10 years, and Ted says this because there is nothing for them to talk about.
Lately I’m obsessed with the idea of twins, who tend to have an even tighter bond than siblings. I’ll admit I want a twin, someone who looks just like me, who grew in the same way I did. Who will have so many of the same experiences, who will know me better than anyone/ Then I have to think, well, my own sister is sort of like that.
— siobhan
In a way, one of the best things about having a sister is getting to be close to someone who is not really that similar to you. Maureen is extremely level-headed, practical, organized and hard-working. I’m a bit of a space cadet, inclined to laziness, flights of fantasy and finding reality rather a chore. Mo used to say that she’d support me as some sort of starving, insane artist like Theo van Gogh did for his brother, Vincent. For a while I thought this was a great plan. Then at some point I started to wonder about the danger of giving into a helpless role. Why couldn’t I be the artist who figures it all out, with minimal help?
In any case, the other beauty of having a sister is knowing she will always be there for me, in case I starve or go insane. When I was writing my will and had to choose the person to pull the plug if i were brain-dead, I chose my sister over my husband because it felt like she’d be making sure she served my interests, did what she thought was best for me, rather than going along with whatever medical advice was given to her (my husband tends to stick with rules and authority).
I’ve never quite understood my husband’s relationship with his brothers. I never knew his older brother, even though I’ve been with Ted for over 23 years. His older brother was a hermit who lived near Rochester, NY and we never seemed to go in that direction.
So years went by and they did talk a bit by email and gradually we heard about his issues with anxiety, and using hard drugs to self-medicate. Then 3 years ago he took some painkillers laced with fentanyl, stopped breathing and wound up in the hospital with severe brain damage. He died a week after his overdose. Ted never wants to talk about it, and he seemed subdued but not sad. He kept saying they weren’t close and never really talked to each other. It seemed so sad that brothers could grow up with almost no bond at all. The same is the same with his younger brother, who I have met but didn’t like much, since he seemed selfish and a poser. At some point I got the feeling he was gay and mentioned it Ted, who became very upset at the idea. Not because he is homophobic but simply because he thinks I’m wrong, and it’s unfair for me to suggest such a thing. In any case they haven’t spoken for about 10 years, and Ted says this because there is nothing for them to talk about.
Lately I’m obsessed with the idea of twins, who tend to have an even tighter bond than siblings. I’ll admit I want a twin, someone who looks just like me, who grew in the same way I did. Who will have so many of the same experiences, who will know me better than anyone/ Then I have to think, well, my own sister is sort of like that.
— siobhan
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