My kids have not been getting along. I will not bore you with the entire story, because that would take like, their entire lives to retell, but I will tell you that last night they were laughing together and having fun (despite the fact that they were together to go to a wake).
The sibling thing is impossible to capture. It’s comprised of all the same stuff that makes a good novel: humor, pathos, jealousy, adoration, love, and hate with a little bit of crazy town thrown in. To call the relationship complex would be like calling the sun, “one of the little stars that make up the galaxy.”
The shared history is unique. Even though my sisters were gone from the house by the time I was eight, they are the only people who really know what it was like to live at 88 Milwaukee Avenue. And that is big. I think for me, shared experience with anybody is a deal maker. It deepens a relationship, giving it a richness that’s like a hand whipped vat of butter.
I will go to the funeral of a close friend’s brother today. I will watch him give a eulogy. And while we in the audience will think we understand what he is feeling about losing his brother at 57, the only people who will really understand what he is saying are his brothers and sisters.
I’m so grateful to have one night of my kids getting along. They love each other madly, but that doesn’t necessarily trump the complicated relationship they have with each other. I am always hopeful they will find one another and be friends when they’re older. Because it’s their shared memories that will sustain and amuse them later on. They own those days of growing up together in a way nobody else can know or have. And that, that’s really the money shot.