I love the definition of sacred provided in the invite. I was struggling with the word, and when I looked it up to try and distinguish it from special, four out of seven of the definitions I found had religious connotation. I know that wasn't specifically the intent of the Brazen who posted, so I revisited the post and was delighted to see "esteemed or held especially dear." It helped me get in the mindset and relax, instead of getting hung up on the word. Soon, I was able to generate quite a list. Here's the paired down version.
Family- my son, my husband
Loving parents, both still alive. I'm so grateful.
Words & Writing
Soothing feeling I get being by the water
Thanksgiving Dinners
My sister
The house with o-pen windows on a cool fall or winter day
Our 10th anniversary stay at the White Orchid Inn
Growing up with living grandparents
My grandma's diamond wedding band, which is now gone.
Completing my dissertation
Fall holidays in Massachusetts with my cousins
My curly hair
My thumb ring
Two in depth projects I did for school- one in undergrad with my grandpa, one in grad school with my dad.
I waited for my list to speak to me. I could really write about any of these people, places, things, and events. But I sat with my list for a bit, as the prompt urged us to do. Then, planning to try and write today I opened my computer and checked in on Facebook to find this:
My sister, Jennifer, was speaking to me. She posted this in celebration of our mom's 69th birthday today. It's a photo of the three of us at her wedding a couple of years ago. Her friends were the photographers, so they caught a lot of the "behind the scenes" moments like this one. I've alluded to my sister time and again in my writing. But I realized, as sacred as our relationship is to me I've never devoted a piece to her. I cannot imagine my life without her. She is my sister and my best friend. We live a couple of states away, she in North Carolina, me in Florida. It's hard to see each other often. It's been years since we have lived close enough to see each other daily or even weekly, and it's tough. After we both finished college (she was 3 years ahead of me in school) she followed my husband and me up to Orlando, and we even lived together - the three of us with roommates- for a couple of years. I was really blessed to have her as my sister, best friend, and my roommate during those years.
She's always been a huge part of Jacob's life too. With the two of us so close, how could she not be! When he was really young, she was single, so when we got together it was all about him. They forged something pretty special sharing a love for music and media, and all kinds of things. When you consider that Paul and I have been together since we were teenagers, it's almost as though he and Jen are brother and sister too.
We share a love for pop culture- she's way more intense than I am. But we love inserting music and movie lines into any conversation when the opportunity presents itself, and there are certain movies Paul won't even watch with us anymore because we recite all the lines. One of our favorites of course is from Parenthood. "Don't hurt my sister!" See below.
I could write endless stories of all kinds about my sister and me. But today, I'm going to go way back.
I'm not sure how old we were, but when my sister was in late middle school and high school, she was a tough cookie. She gave my parents (mostly my mom) a run for their money. I don't remember her doing anything particularly "bad" like we think of when we think of kids gone wild (probably because I was younger and looked up to her). She just fought with my mom so much during those years, and there was a lot of door slamming and "I hate you!" I've always been a peacekeeper. I didn't like to make my parents mad, and I didn't like it when my parents were upset with her. She was my big sister.
We lived in a two story colonial home on Long Island (a standard I had a difficult time letting go of in early adulthood). It was a great house on a half an acre. I could write chapters about our childhood there, but that's for another time. There was a steep staircase from the front hallway all the way up to the second floor where all the bedrooms were. On the left was the master suite. Just across from the stairs was our bathroom, and then to the right of the stairs was Jen's room. Mine was in between her room and the bathroom. We were separated only by a small linen closet. Often, we would sneak over to each other when we were supposed to be sleeping or in our rooms separated by our dad after a round of sibling bickering.
One night, I can't recall how old we were exactly, shit had really hit the fan. Jen was so mad at my parents, not sure if it was one or both of them. She was convinced she had to get out of there, and started packing a bag. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me she was running away. Whatever it is angry pre-teens say when they've had it with their parents, her explanation to me was probably similar. I wonder if she remembers why she wanted to leave. Anyway, needless to say I was not okay with this plan. I was young enough to believe she would go, and naive enough not to understand the likelihood she'd be right back home in no time even if she did. Funny looking back, I never told my parents. I don't recall if she swore me to secrecy (likely) or if I was just convinced I could keep her from leaving. Instead of squealing, I went to my own room to create what might possibly have been my first piece of persuasive writing!
Though I don't remember exactly what I wrote in my note to her, I know I told her I really didn't want her to leave and I couldn't live without her. I wanted her to know I would miss her if she left. I slipped the note under her door, and scrambled back to my room. Usually, when I did that I would wait by my door and listen or watch to see if she took it and read it. This time was no different. I sat in the doorway with my door cracked, and peeped around the corner to the crack at the bottom of her door to see if she got it. Within a few minutes she opened her door and looked over to mine. She waved me in and I scampered into her room and cried begging her not to go. She hugged me tight in the motherly way a big sister does, and told me she wouldn't leave. Mission accomplished.
I wish to G-d I still had the actual note, but as kids we never think of holding onto the artifacts that make up our personal histories. My mom was pretty distraught when we left our home and moved to Florida, so she pretty much left us to pack up our own rooms. I know I got rid of a lot of things I wish I had now. Oh well, it is what it is.
It's funny, I never listed my sister as a sponsor of my literacy*, but she really was. From reading to me before I could read on my own, to writing notes back and forth, she definitely was an early sponsor. She just might have been my first authentic audience. I'm remiss in that I couldn't tell this story with more detail, but it was the sentiment that demonstrated the sacredness of the relationship I have with my sister. I'm reminded I have lots of stories to tell about our escapades. She just might be biting her nails right now. (Kid sister snickers with devilish delight.)
Here's a few oldies for fun... I have to dig through archives to find some from the ages we were in this story. Not sure I even have any.
*Sponsors of literacy is from the work of Deborah Brandt. The link above is a wikipedia short for a brief explanation. To read more academic work by Brandt, I highly recommend this paper or her book, Literacy and Learning: Reflections on Writing, Reading, and Society.
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