Marie and I have had a love/hate relationship for the past 43 years. She was born when I was two years old, and from the moment she could grab a handful of my hair, we’ve been at each other’s throats.
Most people find it strange that two sisters would actually try to knock the other into another stratosphere. Fairytale images of sisters abound of slumber parties and doing each others’ hair and telling each other secrets. Little curls in dresses and curls playing with their baby dolls and pretending to beautiful princesses.
*Those of you who know me are rolling on the floor in hysterics at the thought of me with a baby doll right now, aren’t you?*
Not so for Marie and me. We pulled each other’s hair, threw mud pies (with a few strategic pebbles packed in) and ran over each other with our bikes. It took nothing more than Marie breathing my air for us to end up rolling around on the ground pounding the crap out of each other.
One particularly fun day, we were sitting on her bed and before I knew it, I was on the floor with her straddling me and rubbing my face raw with a wad of notebook paper! Talk about paper cuts! ‘
Tis okay. I got her back one day when we were staging a fight while waiting on the school bus and she zigged when she should have zagged and I socked her right in the eye.
I had a scratched face. She had a black eye. All’s fair in love and sisters.
The flip side of this complicated relationship is while Marie is still the only human I ever have fleeting thoughts of sending to the moon with a great right hook (with the exception of an urgent care doctor or two), she is also one of the first people I would lay my life down for.
Numerous times I took the punishment for something we both know she did. Today it’s called enabling… at the time I called it protecting her. When others threatened to kick her butt I was the first in line to kick theirs.
Right now, kidney failure is threatening my little sister and I’m at a loss as to how to protect her from this one. She’s made ginormous strides in becoming healthier to be considered for a transplant, but after losing 100+ pounds, the transplant folks tell her she has to lose more. They mentioned gastric bypass which she’s already been told she can’t have because she has so little kidney function.
So she feels like she is back at square one even though she has mastered 500. She feels defeated when she has so much to rejoice over. She feels she still hasn’t done enough when she is doing all that is humanly possible.
I feel like I want to kick kidney failure’s butt and hug my sister.