Notes on Family...

and believing in the impossible.

I’m writing this from the airport in Nassau after a long weekend at the Atlantis Resort with my sister and nephew. If you had told me just a year ago that the three of us would venture to the Bahamas on a family trip, I would have called you crazy. See, my sister and I have spent most of the last decade essentially estranged. There was the occasional text message- letting me know she was flying through Charlotte, sharing a link to a song we loved growing up- but there was never any depth to the exchange. Before this year, my partner of more than seven years had only met my sister a couple of times. I could count on fewer than two hands the number of times I had seen my seven-year-old nephew in person.

Geography was a factor, certainly. My family lives in Michigan where I grew up, and I live about 12 hours away by car in North Carolina. Not even a nonstop flight connects us. But something bigger happened in our years as young adults, each trying to find our way, that seemed to construct a wall between us. Convinced we were too different perhaps, complacent with the loss of any meaningful friendship. The strain was at times contentious, but for the most part, we just quietly kept our distance. The arrival of my nephew made things even harder, probably for both of us. Having this amazing little human in Michigan that wouldn’t know me as his aunt. Having a sister in North Carolina that wouldn’t know her son. Our situation had become so strained, that when I got married in September of 2023, my sister wasn’t invited to the wedding. Just seeing those words in print still floods me with shame.

A little background: my sister and I are four years apart. I was a typical first-born kid, independent, eager to please, driven by perfection. My little sister was born a rascal. She was mischievous, funny, and adventurous from the start. We were as close as two siblings can be growing up, sharing secrets and wardrobes, always fighting and making up. Our summers were spent together, largely in the woods around our house, digging holes to fill with 5-gallon buckets of water, our own country kids swimming pool. Building a bridge to go across and spray painting it yellow, just because we could. I have a distinct memory of driving with my sister in the middle of the night during a snowstorm to our 24-hour supermarket for candy. We drove slow with the music cranked up loud, having the time of our lives just being together.

Love at first sight. December 1990.

When I went off to college, my sister started high school. When I moved to North Carolina for graduate school, my sister enrolled in a cosmetology program. I wanted a 401(k), loving family, and a pretty house. As a young adult, my sister took a less traditional route. She experimented with drugs, men, and adult entertainment. There came a point where I was pretty miserable in the “safe” life I had worked so hard to build, and she was struggling with mental health and stability in hers. We had started to grow apart, probably unaware that we were fighting many of the same obstacles, on what felt like opposite ends of the earth. It makes me sad reflecting on that time now, realizing that we probably could have been a huge support for one another.

Getting pregnant with my nephew may have saved my sister’s life. It was the happiest and healthiest my family had seen her in a long time. I was asked to design the invitations for her baby shower, and I remember going all out, thrilled to be doing active duty as a sister again. Pregnancy had a profound effect on her. She was sweet, thoughtful, present. My nephew was one of the most beautiful babies by anyone’s standards. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter in our story. Sadly, the closeness of that time pretty quickly fell away.

Years passed, I met my now-husband, Leston, and convictions around “chosen family” were strengthened. Conditioned to let go of relationships that were more hurtful than not by my Dad, I convinced myself to be content with the family I did have and the chosen one I had built. I had all but given up entirely on the chance that she and my nephew would be in our lives. I would have pangs of missing my sister, though. They would sometimes come out of nowhere, other times sparked by a memory. At my core, I missed my little rascal. I wanted to be an aunt.

A major shift came last summer. We ventured north for a week to see family and escape the North Carolina heat. As we often do, we spent the vacation at my parents’ lake cottage. My sister and nephew decided to come up for a day, and I could immediately sense a difference in her demeanor. It was like seeing a version of her from our childhood, only better. She asked questions, was curious about Leston, she laughed, and seemed genuinely happy to see my nephew interacting with us. It turns out, she had decided to get completely sober. Around the same time, I had started taking an SSRI to help with my anxiety and depression. As we were driving home, my husband said how great it was to see the two of us giggling and embracing like sisters. We were clearly both in a better place, and I felt gratitude to my core for our reconnection.

Shortly after our Michigan trip, we helped my sister book a flight. She and my nephew were coming to North Carolina. We realized it had been 10 years since her last visit. Showing them around our city was surreal. We took them to favorite restaurants, introduced them to friends, and played football in our local parks. At night, all four of us would pile on the couch for snuggles. We roasted marshmallows and made s’mores in our backyard. We taught my nephew how to ride the Peloton bike, and he was hooked, huffing and puffing his way through his morning workouts. I cried pulling away from the airport after our adventure-filled weekend. For a few days, the house was too quiet.

When an invitation came to join them in the Bahamas, it didn’t take much convincing. The Atlantis Resort is their happy place, and I was incredibly honored to join. We spent the last few days swimming in the ocean together (the first time with my sister since a family trip to Florida as young kids.) We ate pizza, hamburgers, french fries, and milkshakes like we were all seven. I got to see the resort through the eyes of my nephew; what a gift childhood is. Having dinner with them in restaurants and enjoying our “nightcaps” in bed was even better than I could have imagined. With our bathing suit bottoms full of sand and a hint of sunburn, our hearts were full. Saying goodbye this morning wasn’t easy, but this time I know I’ll see them again very soon.

I got a kick out of telling people at the resort that we were sisters; we look less like family than ever. My sister is objectively hot. She loves hair extensions, weight lifting, big boobs, and tattoos. Men love her. I was often donning a baseball cap and a one piece bathing suit. The sporty to her sexy. On the surface you wouldn’t take us for friends, let alone family. But our lives have been more parallel than they have been different. We have a common experience, some mutual trauma. More than anything we have a shared sense of humor and gratitude. These lives we’ve built, we’re proud of them.

My sister is big on manifesting the existence you want, and when you look at the way her life has evolved, it’s hard not to wonder. In one way or another, I would like to think we’ve manifested our reconnection. In the silent moments of rooting for her, even when I didn’t feel she wanted my support. In the brave way she showed up last summer, and has continued to show up ever since. She would say, “Sis, that’s the Universe, taking care of us.” And for that (and her) I am so incredibly grateful.