knowing my future sister-from-another-mister lived inside.
In the window, Alice used to place curiosities – crab shells,
a vintage riding helmet, tiny bottles of f lowers – and I made
up stories about whose house it was. When we finally met, I
discovered she’d moved here just weeks before our babies were
born. My son and her daughter are five days apart – we were in
the same hospital at the same time, I later found out. She barely
knew a soul and I barely knew who I was anymore. It was fate.
In the eleven years since our meeting, Alice and I have been
family to each other. She was there for me when my marriage
fell apart, one of the only friendly faces left on the school run.
She poured me wine as I told her the deepest secrets of my
heart. She pulled me up when I was wrong or made mistakes.
And in turn, I’ve been there for her. We’ve even planned our
retirement – together, living by the sea in Devon, laughing
about the good old days until the end.
According to author Brené Brown, “When we’re looking
for compassion, we need someone who is deeply rooted, is
able to bend and, most of all, embraces us for our strengths
and struggles. We need to honor our struggle by sharing it
with someone who has earned the right to hear it. When we’re
looking for compassion, it’s about connecting with the right
person at the right time about the right issue.”
Brené calls these people “move-a-body friends”, after
a situation where a friend needed someone to help carry
her passed-out alcohol dependent mother. Brene’s friend
explained: ‘I’d call you because you would come right away,
give me a hug, never look judgmental or disapproving or
disgusted. And then you’d say, “Let’s do this.”’
Yes. Sister, let’s do this.56