Three Sisters

I have three sisters.

This fact has been an anchor in my life despite our somewhat unusual circumstances. You see, my two older sisters are about 9 and 10 years older than me and my younger sister (they had a different mom). My dad and their mother divorced when they were about 7 and 8 years old and my dad got remarried, to my mother. When I was just a toddler and my younger sister was a baby, their mother died from leukemia and they came to live with us. I’ve never known or thought of them as anything but my sisters, and when my parents passed away last year, the 4 of us grew even closer despite the grief wrecking ball that ensued. 

Life when we were young wasn’t easy for our family. Dad was a contractor at the time, and spent a number of years finishing the house. All 6 of us lived in the basement of the home I grew up in. We all slept in the same room, shared 1 bathroom, and the laundry room was also the kitchen.

I usually had a bath in the washtub.  I didn’t care, I actually thought it was cool!  My older sisters tell stories like, for instance, when the phone company came and took the phone off the wall because my parents couldn’t pay the bill.  I never felt poor, or neglected, or that we were less than. Mostly, growing up like we did was an amazing experience.

One day when I was in high school, I was explaining to a friend of mine about my 3 sisters and how my two older sisters had a different mom. He blurted out “No, you don’t have 3 sisters, they are your half-sisters!”  I almost punched him in the face. When I spoke at my parent’s funerals, I spent some time reflecting on our life and how despite all the twists and turns, we all were so grateful for mom and dad, and each other. Sometimes death will tear apart a family, and I get that can happen. But I pray it doesn’t. A year later, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that I still have three sisters.