Growing Pains

LCpod

World Spins Madly On by The Weepies

Just when I thought I was strong-willed and confident. Just when I thought I was independent and able. Just when I thought I could stand alone and go forward in life by myself, my sister tells me she's moving back home.  And I quickly realize: I'm none of the above.

In life, everything is about timing.  Things happen at a specific time, on a specific day, at a specific location to a specific person, without question.  Some of it is left up to chance; but the majority is left up to God’s major plan. 

Four years ago, the timing was right for Cha and I to move to Toronto.  Now, four years later, the timing is right for her to move back.  I'm not ready to let her go, but things don't work on my schedule.  And come to think of it, I'll never be ready.  With clarity and direction, her life is starting and as someone who has been there for, and with her, through thick and thin, always having her best interests at heart, like she has for me, I can do nothing but step back and let life take her to where she belongs.

I am not very accustomed to these grand farewells.  Lucky for me, most of the people I care about have remained at arm’s length.  My first real goodbye was to my eldest sister:

Sister Removal: Round 1

I was in highschool.  She moved away for university and I remember not knowing how to deal.  In many ways, I idolized her and everything that she did, right down to the way she swallowed her water; seriously.  So this business of having her pulled out of the family home was so foreign to me that coping was rather difficult.  I remember sobbing at her mini going away party as I chugged back some Black Ice (worst.beer.ever).  

Sister Removal: Round 2:

Fast forward to now and I have to go through it all over again.  This time, it's on a whole other level.  To put it into perspective, I shared a room with Cha for twenty three of my twenty seven years, another four years has been as her roommate.  I’m just down the hall from her and we still have sleepovers. 

As three little girls, we spent our days together exploring.  The entire neighbourhood was our playground.  We’d play house, trek the forest, make cabins, draw houses in the sand and make Fraggle Rock clubs.  We erected lemonade stands on the side of the highway in hopes of striking rich.  We would spend hours playing hide and go seek, fishing for leaves in water puddles, jumping rope, playing bank teller and Nintendo.  We loved New Kids on the Block and banana penicillin.

We would count on three, utter a swear word and then pinky swear to never tell a soul.  We thought so highly of ourselves when we made our parents bread balls (Recipe: a slice of bread, slap a hunk of jam in the middle, roll into a ball and microwave.  I may have to make myself one of those tonight, for old times’ sake).  We were well behaved but don't let our cuteness deceive you.  We had a bad streak.  Case in point: we stole raspberries from our neighbour to make jam for our dolls.  Bad ass. But in everything that we did, no matter what, I looked to my sisters for approval, protection and guidance. 

With all its glory, there is a disadvantage of being the little sister.  Your older sisters become your security blanket.  But unlike the inanimate object that is a blanket, you can’t take your sisters with you wherever you go.  Unlike a blanket, they have a life, dreams, aspirations, schedules, wants and needs, all of which you selfishly want to tamper with so your story together won’t unilaterally change directions. But part of growing up is letting go of those tiny comforts.  I let go of Pee years ago.  One down, one more to go.  Now, I have to let go of Cha.  Two down, no more to go.  

My dad always said we’d have to part ways at some point, but we laughed at the thought because it was so far down the road that there was no need to worry, let alone think about it.  But now, we’ve reached a fork in the road.  She is destined to go one way, and I the other. 

It will hit me like a ton of bricks when I come home from work and can't plop myself beside her on her bed as we watch Dr Oz and every other show that plays after it until 10 oclock.  I will undoubtedly cry myself to sleep for an indefinite, and likely lengthy, period of time.  Walking by her room with someone else in it will tear me to pieces.  My heart will skip a beat at anything that will remind me of her; we’ve experienced Toronto together, so that means everything.  The only thing that keeps my anxiety somewhat at bay is knowing there is only hours separating my sisters and I and not heaven and earth.  I thank God for that.

In the treehouse, in our rooms, on the swings, in our forts, during our sleepovers, as we ate our little girl meals, you name it, the three of us spoke adamantly of our futures, like they were lightyears away.  We always said that when we grew up, we’d all live together in this big mansion with our respective future husbands and children (which we picked out of the Sears Catalogue by the way), and together, we would live happily ever after.  It’s right about now where I wish that mansion wasn’t just a pipedream.  Instead, it remains a naïve, innocent and hopeful childhood promise to never leave each other’s side. 

The day she officially moves out will be the day that I say goodbye to our childhood promise and say hello to me, myself and I.  It will be the day where I put on my big girl shoes and learn to walk on my own.

All sappy, sucky-baby-la-la talk aside, I realize that my sisters and I will always be by each other’s side, living together, but apart.  Life: the grown up way.

LCxo

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