There was no escaping the spattering of spring rain as we exited the subway, the midnight dazzle of Times Square at our backs, gusts of chill blossoming our light jackets. But that wasn’t enough to hinder our decision to stop and take a selfie; my two sisters, Simone, and one of my nephews all laughing and smiling long enough to get a few shots off before hustling back to the hotel, shivering and damp.
We were in town for a cousin’s bar mitzvah, and though we didn’t get a ton of time together, the fun moments of pure sibling hilarity and love are still with me a couple weeks later.
April is a special month in my family — not only is it our parents’ anniversary (not celebrated for nearly a quarter century), but both Sarah and Karen’s birthdays are this month. I was so happy to get time with both of them, even if it wasn’t enough.
Although they look a lot alike (no question when you see us that we’re all related), each sister is wonderful in her own unique way. What they share, though, is a deep love for their family — especially their children and nieces and nephews (who are treated as if they were their own). They’re dedicated moms with very different parenting styles, and Simone is fortunate enough to have two tantes who dote on her while still not letting her get away with anything.
That fierce love can be both overwhelming and deeply comforting for the girl, whose family lineage is 50% midwestern stoic and 50% mushy Jewish. While they’re intent on helping Simone reach her potential and be a present, engaged member of the family, and aren’t afraid to scold her when appropriate, my sisters also smother her with hugs and kisses. Aunts are the best buffer and trusted confidante for a teenage girl, and it fills my heart with confidence and joy when I see them take Simone in hand. They love their baby girl unconditionally, and she knows it, even when they make her furious. It’s awesome.
I don’t breeze through, either. Neither of my sisters is reluctant to tell me when I’m messing up. They remind me when to take a deep breath, and they’re always available for commiseration. They’re deeply loyal and protective of me — they help me through the disappointment of a broken heart, and also tell me when I let a good one get away (mostly through my own poor judgment). They’re still looking for be to bring them a sister.
They’re the ones who fell in love with my modern brownstone when they came for a visit, and they’re also the ones who made me buy racks and drawer inserts and then spent a half-day shaking their heads and organizing my kitchen for me.
They’re also a whole lot of fun.
We’ve been finding ways to have “sibs weekends” each year (and occasionally more often), where it’s pretty much just the three of us eating and drinking and laughing together.
This last one in New York City was especially fun — not only was our time together interspersed with a celebration where we got to hug on and catch up with cousins and aunts and uncles and even our very own mom, but we had just a couple of our kids along with us for the hilarity. So rather than the full brood of tweens, teens, and a baby, it was mostly just us (and our brother) and two teenagers who probably haven’t seen the three of us let our guard down and be silly (or snippy) with each other quite like that before.
What I love best about NYC is how easy it is to hoof it or hop a train and be in another part of the city within a few minutes. And because Max and Simone are both stellar travelers, the five of us could get around easily, whether it was braving the rain for cereal milk milkshakes from Milk Bar, or the longer haul down to Chelsea and a sunset walk along the High Line. If the kids were privy to a bit more grownup conversation than usual, it didn’t seem to phase them (or maybe they just weren’t paying attention).
One of the best moments, though, was truly magical. We’d gone a block out of our way and were trudging through a freezing mist down another avenue to get to the UNIQLO store when a street musician started playing the opening notes of “Take Five” by Dave Brubeck. He had a recording of the backup instruments, and was playing the melody on a clarinet. The three of us stopped and gasped.
“Dad’s here!” Sarah said. He had just happened to start playing our father’s favorite song as we were passing by. We all stopped for just a second in the rain to recognize the moment before I put a few bucks in his hat and we moved on. The music followed us down the block.
That we’re part of a larger family of beloved cousins and aunts and uncles who are generous with their affection and advice makes us even stronger.
Even though they live in other states, my sisters and I are always connected. Whether it’s frequent phone calls or ongoing text conversations, it’s rare that more than a day or two will go by without an interaction. They’re my foundation when things go sideways, and I’m slowly learning to fill my father’s role as problem-solver when they need to work through a knotty situation. They both have rockstar husbands whom I love dearly, but it’s still a good feeling to be the big brother when they need me.
As April’s cold-hot-rainy-snowy-sunny wackiness slips into the somewhat more predictable warming that is May in Denver, I can only think how lucky I am to have the stability of sisters who love me even when I’m at my most unstable. It’s not something I take lightly, though I don’t know if I say it to them often enough.
Sibs can be your biggest life challenge or the best part of being in a family. I’m happy and grateful and humbled by the loving relationship I have with mine.
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