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each other’s skin, we learnt a love and respect for our
differences just as kids grow to love the vegetables
they once considered to be the gastronomic equivalent
to a f loater in the bath. And never has the power of
difference been more of a strength and a comfort to me
than now. Because this is the year that our world shifted
on its axis. It is the year our mum died.
She had a rare degenerative neurological disease
called MSA which slowly robbed her body of its
autonomic functions and our mum of her identity and
quality of life. It was traumatic and heart-breaking. It
was honest and love-filled. Her death shattered us and
bound us together closer than ever.
We each drew on our strengths through her illness
and death. Sister #2 was the scientist – the one who
helped to read mum’s symptoms,
understood the drugs, knew
what questions to ask the medical
team. And what seeds we should
plant in her memory.
Sister #3 was the closest thing
we had to Florence Nightingale.
She was mum’s most natural
carer. But god forbid should a
consultant try to fob us off with
a vague response when she was
in the room. Carer and taker of
no prisoners in one.
As the eldest and the one who does the words, I was
the straight talker – initiating some of the conversations
I never realised we would need to have until, of course,
we did. What mum considered to be an acceptable
quality of life and when, for her, it was time to stop
medical intervention, where she wanted to die, what
songs we should play at her funeral, how on earth we
should say goodbye to the person who had dedicated
her life to raising us.
We are all grieving differently. We all have shared
and totally unique memories of our mum – of being
her daughters. But never have I respected and valued
my sisters more.
My brother too (and there’s a whole other article
to be written on the benefits of brothers) but there
was something unique and special about the way ‘thesisters’ pulled together and still do. An unspoken
realisation that we are the mums now. We can’t fill the
void she left but we can soften the edges. We’ll make
sure dad gets his hair cut and a cleaner. We’ll remember
birthdays. We’ll be the glue at Christmas.
So are sisters good for your mental health and
wellbeing? I don’t need a scientist to tell me that this
is true. We have helped to sooth each other’s broken
hearts. They have given me confidence as only
someone who knows all your faults and has endured
you puking on their head through the slats of the top
bunk and has your back anyway, can. They keep me
grounded because they never let me forget my roots.
Because they are my roots. Not only are you allowed
to be yourself, you have no choice but to be yourself
around your sisters. There’s a
non-optional authenticity that
comes with being around the
women who have known you
from the start. We’ve kept each
other sane as we’ve navigated
motherhood together. We’ve kept
each other on the straight and
narrow with brutal honesty and
the closest thing that exists to the
unconditional love of parents.
And most of all, my two sisters
make me happy.
Too Enid Blyton? Perhaps you have a trickier
relationship with your sister(s). Maybe you haven’t
managed to reconcile your differences. Maybe you
never learnt to love salad. But, speaking (in a very
unscientific way) to a few pals in the know, there is
a self-awareness and strength of character that can
come from that. Because the chances are, it’s one of the
first (of many) messy relationships you will experience
and learning to navigate and make peace with that, to
be yourself in spite and because of it, are skills that will
set you up for life.
So when they say that no great story starts with
someone eating a salad, they are talking nonsense.
Salad, like sisters, is exactly where the best stories start
and finish. Even, and especially, if they are not fairy
tales (and some of the best bits are unpublishable).You have no choice
but to be yourself
around your sisters.
There’s a non-optional
authenticity that comes
with being around
women who have known
you from the start.