April 10 is National Siblings Day.
I no longer talk to mine.
My older sister – the one who’s married with two girls of her own – can’t seem to chat one-on-one with me, without our voices escalating, and at least one of us dishing out an unhealthy dose of blame and hurt. She’s a pretty terrific mom. I’ve even heard her tell her own children, “you’re sisters, and you only have each other, so you have to find a way to get along.” And they do. But her rule, clearly, doesn’t apply to us.
I miss her.
Text is the primary method of connecting with my only brother. It isn’t often, and I’ll take it, but it’s not the same. Not like it used to be between us. We grew up with me thinking he could do no wrong, and him always making me laugh. We had each other’s backs. It used to be easy. It used to be free. That’s what I remember whenever I take out old photographs and trace our smiles with my finger.
I miss him.
