by Bernadette A. Sahm

If you are looking for a feel-good story about “sisters” this, isn’t it. Yes, I have witnessed sisters that are the best of friends and have loving and supportive relationships with their sisters, That, however, was not my experience.

After more than 30 years of writing books, blogs and articles, I have never written about my four sisters, well, not until now. It is my belief that my mother taught my sisters how to treat me. I was a “daddy’s girl” and often at odds with my mother. I am named after my father “Bernie” as my parents were hoping for a son and instead, they got Bernadette. I was the “son” they were hoping for, I loved my dad and grew up being close to him. He loved me too and I always felt it.

Now back to my “sisters” I was the second born of five daughters and as a little girl I was often taunted by them. “Bernadette, Cycle 3 for the overweight dog.” They were referencing a type of dog food that was on the market back then. After my parents divorced, I was heartbroken and without an ally in my dad. My father had moved on with another woman and other children.

My sisters would say, “You are just like dad, why don’t you go live with him.” That was not an option and they knew it.

Childhood stuff, yeah, well okay but it didn’t stop there. When my first husband died, my wedding rings were missing from my apartment. An apartment where my sisters often babysat my daughter the first-born grandchild and their niece. (with pay) When I realized my wedding ring was missing, I was certain my sister took it. After sharing this with our mother she said, “how could you say such a thing?’

Months later while in our mother’s driveway, the sister I suspected of taking my wedding ring was sitting in the passenger seat of my car. We had been out together somewhere that day, when she said, “I have something to tell you.” My response was, “no you don’t just give it back.” And she did along with a beautiful poem she had written about me. I was right all along.

They would take my new clothing still with the tags on from my closet and wear them without asking. Once I loaned another sister the ivory silk dress, I owned that was the most expensive dress I ever had at that time. She was going on a very special date, and I willingly loaned it to her, asking only that she have it dry cleaned when she returned it. We agreed on this. Days later she returned the dress in plastic like you would get from the cleaners. I looked at it all wrinkled and said, “where was it cleaned it looks terrible?” Her response, “I don’t remember.”

At a different time and yet another sister had broken up with her live-in boyfriend. She needed a place to stay and my mother asked me. Ok. I moved my toddler in with me and gave up the second bedroom for her to use. After work one night (I had a paid babysitter) I found a roasted chicken in my frig with a note attached that read, “do not touch”. This sister stayed with me for weeks or months rent free and never bothered to buy toilet paper, shampoo, soap etc. My babysitter at this time called out sick and I was scheduled to work. I asked the sister who was living with me rent free if she could babysit for a few hours so I could go to work. Her response, “are you going to pay me?”

When abuse married into our family, I chose to believe the child who confided in me, the “sisters” all took the side of supporting our mother who married that man. Mom and I never had a fight about it. It would silently become clear to me that I had been excluded from the family. Holidays came and went and I was not included.

Not long after the abuse became clear to me, my youngest sister was about to have her first child, a son. My husband and I were asked to be the Godparents, and we were honored to do so. When she was still in the hospital after giving birth, I called her to see how she was doing. She was distressed and upset as I inquired about what was wrong, she said, “mom said if you are the Godparents when our baby is baptized, she’s not coming. I said, “let me make this easy for you, we are out.” This was the last time I ever had any meaningful communication with a sister of mine.

The last time I saw my mother was at her farm in Pennsylvania, her abusive husband wasn’t home. It was a quick visit during the Christmas holidays, she would “gift” me a $50 bill and bottle of liquor. I was certain this was a last moment gesture and surely not very personal.

Mom would spend the last twenty-five years estranged from me, I tried, she never did. The final blow from my “sisters” would be to exclude me in her obituary. When family members like Aunts and Uncles questioned this, the response was “it was what our mother wanted” either way, them or her, it didn’t make any of them look good and only proved my points about “them” and me.

There are many more stories about them that I could share, but it all points back to the same things; a lack of boundaries, a lack of respect and no love.

So here it is my one and only writing about my so called “sisters” what I can say with certainty is that they have repeatedly shown me who and what I don’t want to be. Blood does not make us “sisters” how we treat each other does. I am blessed with great girlfriends and friendships. When I think of them, the four “sisters” I shake my head and my prayers for them are always the same.

“I hope God gives them every life lesson they need to learn.”

From a favorite author Anne Lamott … “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

And that is my story …

#sisters #family #peace #estrangement #life #lessons