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| One of the newer ornaments next to one missing her hat. |
Growing up, my favorite Christmas ornaments were ones my mother had grown up with – little winged fairies that you could make float on the tree's branches. And when nearly all of those delicate ornaments fell apart, my sister made me new versions that I loved even more than the ones I grew up with.
That Was Cool.
Her gesture was especially meaningful because we had recently lost both of our parents, and were now decorating our own Christmas trees as young adults because our mother died when we were teenagers, then soon after her death, our father removed himself from our lives.
And while my sister and I had never been close, her thoughtful gift made me believe we could finally form that close bond I always wanted to have with her, especially now that she was the only immediate member I had left.
But we never got close. Instead, I spent the next 20 years chasing her affections, constantly examining every interaction for clues as to how I could make her love me like I wanted. Because I was certain that since I lost my mother and father so early, I had to then deserve a sister who loved me, right?
So I chased the fantasy of a devoted sister relentlessly until I finally had to decide that for my own sanity and happiness, I needed to accept that I would never get what I wanted. And instead of chasing someone who would never love me, I needed to give my time and love to the people who wanted to give their time and love to me.
Because love isn't given to us because we deserve it – it is just given, whether we deserve it or not. And everyone, even your family members, are never going to be exactly (or even partially) who you want them to be, they are only always going to be who they are.
And while relatives share your blood, they don't necessarily want to share your life. Often (and dare I say almost always?) the best families are the ones we create ourselves by finding people who love us because of who we are, not because we're related.
And, honestly, what’s cooler than someone being with you because that's where they decided to be, not because it's where they started out?
Of course, letting go of my sister was still one of the most difficult journeys I have ever embarked on, and is one I will likely never fully complete. But at least now I know I am finally making progress, because recently while decorating my tree, I realized I can finally look at those ornaments she made without being drowned by deep pain.
Now when I float those fairies on branches, I can remember how kind it was of my sister to make them for me, and simply appreciate that gesture without aching for anything more. And that feels very cool.
Super Cool Postscript: After this essay was recently published in the newspaper I work for, I began to feel embarrassed this week, fearing I had shared too much of myself. But then I got an email from a reader who said this:
"The tenderness with which you approach your feeling and hurts brought tears to my eyes. Your words of truth about how love is, or isn’t, resonates and really helps my poor heart.
I am so grateful to you for writing this. I don’t feel quite so alone, and think that maybe there is a path for me out of the sadness that frequently consumes me."
These words made me feel that baring my soul was worth any embarrassment, and reminded me why writers feel compelled share our truths -- because at some point, we read the truth of others, and their words gave us strength.
