#Yearof50. Entry 12: The ties that bind us

I was 9 when my first sister, Angela, arrived in August 1980. As I recall, I was a welcoming little fella, and was eager to help my mom with my new sister. I’ve written this in a previous post, but Angela always seemed to love to talk to me, even when it was in that unique pre-language gurgle burgle. She would just talk at me and share whatever it was she needed to share in her baby chatter.

All these years later, she still seems to really like to talk to me, which always fills my heart with joy. I remember coming in from outside when Angela was still a toddler, in her baby carrier in the kitchen, and she just lost it and laughed her little head off. Apparently her big brother was a source of humour. I’m glad to be of service.

Our baby sister, Marsha, arrived in March 1982. I distinctly remember she adored her toy rabbit “Bunny”, and she used to organize her large collection of stuffed friends around her bed in a very particular order (I’m pretty sure there was a Glow Worm in there).

Marsha seemed to know who she was from a very early age. I’ve always admired her for that. She had way more confidence than I ever did, and she has always had a very sharp mind. She does not suffer fools. But she is also unassuming and private, unlike her brother. Which is why I used to love to point her out and dedicate songs to her when we would go out to karaoke at The Bambo, in our hometown of Aylmer, Quebec. Embarrassing my sisters in public is one of my favourite things.

Angela is the heart of the three of us, and she gives so much of herself to others. It was little surprise she ended up in healthcare. Angela reminds me of “The Giving Tree”, which has caused me worry over the years. I’ve never wanted her to give too much away.

I used to make maps for them to discover treasure around the house, and how I wish I still had the cassette tapes from the pretend radio show I hosted, for which they were my guests. They also loved wheelbarrow rides, especially when I would crash it on purpose.

I left home in 1989 to attend Queen’s, and I have long carried guilt about leaving my darling sisters when they were so young. I sure felt special when I would come home for visits. They would come running to the door and yours truly felt wanted. But, in many ways, I was, and am, their distant brother. While I did move home for two years, I left again for Kingston in 1994, and then ended up in Toronto. I now get home only a couple of times a year. When we were in Kingston, we would see them more often.

I don’t know their version of this story. They have spent decades with me in other cities. I hope they know how much I love and treasure them. I’ve always tried to be a source of counsel, friendship, and support. I’m eternally grateful to be their big brother. It’s not a role I have ever taken for granted, even if I was only across the hall for a few years. Always in your corner, my beloved Angela and Marsha. With all my love.