A Celebration of Sisters: The Bond of Sisterhood

Allies and enemies, irritating as shoe pebbles

and fiercely loyal, we would each take on

a charging bull in a sister’s defense.

Our acquaintance stretches through the years,

which grants a view of life’s long arch

unparalleled (but by a brother or two).

In the birth order theater, we played our roles:

the youngest cute forever on Mom’s lap,

the oldest, a junior matriarch

until she rebelled and resigned,

and me, the happy medium

who goes with the flow.

Except when I don’t.

When we meet, there is a subtle

slipping back into grooves

that are familiar and comforting.

But we have also fought and balked,

hurt each other and tearfully made up,

worked things out, between and within,

and blessedly mellowed with age–

sharp shards of broken bottle

tumbled into silky sea glass.

None but siblings have shared

our splintered seedbeds

that carved scars as we grew—

each gash unique, and yet the same.

I recall how after Mom died,

the eldest daughter, barely past twenty, having lost a home

for spending Christmas breaks

stepped up to host holidays

for minor sibs who had also lost theirs.

We are the keepers of the stories,

of memories forgotten and retold.

Few visits pass without aching truths–

missing shapes that become small gifts

as, heads bent together over the puzzle

that always takes over the dining table,

we piece together our history.

We have married, raised children,

moved far away, then closer.

We have lost husbands, said to children goodbye –

Be sure to call when you get home.

We have been there when needed:

when this one suffered painful, slow losses,

when that one was stressed to the max at work,

when the other made a radical decision

to begin again from scratch.

We have been the hearers,

the witnesses of each other’s pain,

the ones to hold each other close

through it all.

And no one can make me laugh

like my sisters. I mean laugh to tears,

snort soft drinks through my nose,

pee-my-pants-a-little laughter.

Thank you both for that.

Tough, smart, hilarious, resilient–

my sisters, you fill my heart.

You lovelies.

July 2026

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My sisters and I have a yearly ritual. We took our inaugural Sisters' Trip in 2017, which means that this summer will make our tenth year of this annual tradition. We go someplace different each time, though sometimes we repeat states. We each have our roles: I take care of organizing the choice of location and arranging the lodgings; little sis usually drives, if it's close enough, so then she becomes the designated driver; and big sister is the activities concierge.

When I mention the sisters' trips to other women, I am invariably met with the cooing sound, "Aww!" -- which means: Oh, that's adorable! -- and a look that is a mixture of wistfulness and envy. It is apparently a rarity for adult sisters to be close enough -- and to have the means and opportunity -- to take a week away together every year. (Full disclosure: We've worked our way up to a week. In the beginning, elder sister had a 3-day limit before we started getting on her every nerve. 🤣 Apparently, her meditation practice actually works!)

As the poem indicates, this annual sisters' trip is a hard-won practice. I think a lot of it has to do with our problematic childhoods. (See my first and second posts for more details.) We couldn't depend on our parents or parental figures in many ways, so the bond of sisterhood became all the more important. And then the parental figures died or faded away early in our lives, so that made it up to us to maintain any sort of extended family. Our trauma made it an imperative to maintain those ties, though we went through relationship issues off and on throughout the first half of our lives. Now our time together is precious to us and something we look forward to all year.

Our first Sisters' Trip in Galveston

... and later in Colorado.

Yes. Sometimes we still like to play dress-up.

... and sometimes we just want to strangle each other.

But every year, we're still truckin'