Sisters In Arms

Me (Mary Catherine) and Susan Renee 1955

I love my sister Susan. I always have. She's two years younger than me and even now, in our 50's, she is still my “little sister”. I have vague memories of myself standing outside on the back porch in Maine at 3 years old and one-year old baby Susan sitting on the inside of the screen door crying because I was going outside to play and she couldn't go. “Don't cry Tu-inay” (Susan Renee) I'd beg her. Even then, playing by myself just wasn't as much fun.

When she finally got old enough to walk, talk and be of some use to me it was great. Here was someone I could hang with, boss around and get away with it. She loved me unconditionally. I had the coveted position of being the “Older Sister”. I could play with her—or not. I was in charge. And Susan always wanted to play with me. “Let's play house” she'd say. “OK but I get the biggest bathroom”. We took our dolls and a bathroom each for a “house” and set up shop. It was great. The bathtub was the bed, the sink was the kitchen and the toilet was a chair. “OK” she'd say. As long as I'd play with her she would do about anything I asked. Sometimes other family members needed to visit our “homes” and sit on our “seats”. We obligingly allowed them access and would take our baby out “shopping” to give them some privacy.

Susan on the turtle at the San Diego Zoo 1958?

Most of the time Susan and I shared a room and for awhile slept in the same double bed. We would talk and giggle and draw letters with our fingers on each other's back. The older we got, the wider the chasm of age became. As teenagers, she had her friends, I had mine. Occasionally I deigned to hang out with her. It was with Susan and a friend of hers that I smoked marijuana for the first time. (shh...mom never knew) It was with Susan that we almost got arrested once at midnight for starting a campfire at Jane Reynolds park. It was Susan and me that cried together late one night when our mom told us she thought our brother loved her more than we did.

We grew up, dropped out, tuned in and turned on, then thankfully tuned back into another channel and both came to know Jesus and give our lives to Him. We both married and raised our own families. Although we've had separate adventures as adults and usually lived in different cities and states, the tie is still there across the miles.

Then my mom died—the one uniting force in our family, the anchor that kept us grounded as a family— and I felt a bit adrift. I was alone in California with my siblings scattered across the United States. Mom's fear in her latter days was that we would all lose touch as a family after she went home to Jesus. I scoffed and promised her we wouldn't, pushing down the doubt in my voice as I did so.

After she passed it felt like Susan and I only grew closer. We have mourned our mother's loss together and are marching on as matriarchs of our own little families as comrades in arms, feeling that mom is watching and cheering us on. Just like those times drawing letters in the double bed, we have each other's backs and we still recognize each other in the dark. We would defend each other to the death. When I forget who I am, Susan grounds me. She reminds me of our mom with her strength, determination, and leadership skills. She reminds me of our dad with her intelligence, dry sense of humor and gift for music. The bond we share is one of a kind and fiercely unwavering.

Life is fragile and short. Oftentimes our paths are rife with potholes and in the end, none of us get out alive. It's so nice to have a best friend in my little sister while I'm here.

~ Mary Catherine