(no subject)
Well, I have another brother," I resignedly announce to my mom over the phone.
One of the things I had desperately hoped for was that along with my original birth certificate, I would discover a whole herd of sisters. In my daydreams, we all had the same high cheekbones and fair Swedish skin that I did.
But nope. I guess another brother would be fine. What would I do with a sister, anyway? I only knew about brothers, the way they burped and farted and antagonized me to the point of tears.
My cousins all had sisters, with the exception of the youngest on my mom's side of the family. My mom had sisters, too. Ten and thirteen years younger than her, she had spent a decade as the only girl. (Her older brother would often tell a riotous story about my grandparents not knowing condoms were NOT reusable. "We had no idea!" exclaimed my grandmother, chagrined.)
I don't remember if I called Christine, or if Christine called me. Her dad was adopted, and so was her husband. She'd been following my reunification journey intently and was pushing for her both her dad and husband to take the plunge.
I sat on their couch and told her everything. The boys talked about video games and music, but I made sure to give Christine every last detail of this story up till now.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed. On the Facebook post where I had tagged my brother, a smiling, dark-haired girl with big brown eyes and lustrous hair, smiling endearingly at the camera, had left me a comment.
"You have a sister, too!" she exclaimed.
Thirty-six years of being sisterless had led me to this moment. I dropped my phone and shrieked. Grabbing Christine's hand, I lesot up from the couch with a burst of energy I wasn't familiar with.
"I HAVE A SISTER!" I cried in delight, through euphoria and tears. "I HAVE A SISTER!"
It was the evening of March 1st when we finally met. I wore my favorite jeans, a shirt with a sparkly peacock on it. (I'd learned my biological father and his wife had peacocks, so this seemed like a nice nod.)
I complimented her on her scarf. I said blue was my favorite color, she said she has only bought it because she was really into stars.
My favorite photo from dinner that night shows the two of us, side by side, delighted smiles on our faces. She is caught mid-laugh and the look on my face is one that can simply only get described as abject joy.
It has been over four years since then. Out of the reunion, I remain closest to her, more than my brother. Every day, we chat on Messenger.i called her as she drove to the hospital after the heart attack that took her beloved mother's life. We recently spent a long weekend together tooling around Eastern Washington where I joked with women at the farmer's market we didn't look alike (at all).
I have said before and will keep saying, that waiting thirty-six years to meet her was entirely worth it. I couldn't have asked for a better sister. We have the same heart for animals, passion for blue cheese, and if there's a burger in the menu with bacon, blue cheese and caramelized onions,watch out.
In my now (almost) forty one years of life, I've met a lot of people.
But hands down, the most important out of all of them was her.
One of the things I had desperately hoped for was that along with my original birth certificate, I would discover a whole herd of sisters. In my daydreams, we all had the same high cheekbones and fair Swedish skin that I did.
But nope. I guess another brother would be fine. What would I do with a sister, anyway? I only knew about brothers, the way they burped and farted and antagonized me to the point of tears.
My cousins all had sisters, with the exception of the youngest on my mom's side of the family. My mom had sisters, too. Ten and thirteen years younger than her, she had spent a decade as the only girl. (Her older brother would often tell a riotous story about my grandparents not knowing condoms were NOT reusable. "We had no idea!" exclaimed my grandmother, chagrined.)
I don't remember if I called Christine, or if Christine called me. Her dad was adopted, and so was her husband. She'd been following my reunification journey intently and was pushing for her both her dad and husband to take the plunge.
I sat on their couch and told her everything. The boys talked about video games and music, but I made sure to give Christine every last detail of this story up till now.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed. On the Facebook post where I had tagged my brother, a smiling, dark-haired girl with big brown eyes and lustrous hair, smiling endearingly at the camera, had left me a comment.
"You have a sister, too!" she exclaimed.
Thirty-six years of being sisterless had led me to this moment. I dropped my phone and shrieked. Grabbing Christine's hand, I lesot up from the couch with a burst of energy I wasn't familiar with.
"I HAVE A SISTER!" I cried in delight, through euphoria and tears. "I HAVE A SISTER!"
It was the evening of March 1st when we finally met. I wore my favorite jeans, a shirt with a sparkly peacock on it. (I'd learned my biological father and his wife had peacocks, so this seemed like a nice nod.)
I complimented her on her scarf. I said blue was my favorite color, she said she has only bought it because she was really into stars.
My favorite photo from dinner that night shows the two of us, side by side, delighted smiles on our faces. She is caught mid-laugh and the look on my face is one that can simply only get described as abject joy.
It has been over four years since then. Out of the reunion, I remain closest to her, more than my brother. Every day, we chat on Messenger.i called her as she drove to the hospital after the heart attack that took her beloved mother's life. We recently spent a long weekend together tooling around Eastern Washington where I joked with women at the farmer's market we didn't look alike (at all).
I have said before and will keep saying, that waiting thirty-six years to meet her was entirely worth it. I couldn't have asked for a better sister. We have the same heart for animals, passion for blue cheese, and if there's a burger in the menu with bacon, blue cheese and caramelized onions,watch out.
In my now (almost) forty one years of life, I've met a lot of people.
But hands down, the most important out of all of them was her.