I find myself boggled more and more, in my senior years, realizing my sister and I are so different. Yes, we are all unique, made in the image of God. The love of family members is there but our uniqueness is chaotic to me. Perhaps, because I am the youngest, just odd, her feeling I am still a child, her baby sister. Perhaps, I trust myself more and know who I am. Just because she is older and perhaps wiser, I also am.

Months ago I wrote a short blog-like story on my Facebook page. It was on the serious side of me but encouragement for others to know they can face tomorrow, as storms in life come. In my brief testimony, my sister could not understand it and worried about me, making an opportunity to visit to see if I was okay. To her surprise, as I knew myself, I am fine and happier than I have been in many years. While trying to explain, she could not grasp but thought the worse.

I realized she can handle joking about my struggles but not the seriousness. How sad is that? So with her, I put my seriousness aside and not being the true me. She does not know me. She thinks she does though. Sadly, years ago, I felt closer to my counselor for this very reason, as she heard me, she knew me more. The depth of my seriousness and even my silly, fun personality, I could be me.

Again, last night, a discussion that reminded me that we are sisters but strangers. This will never change.

Sisterly love I believe it’s called, I guess.