My sister is the closest thing I have left to my Mum. When my Mum died, my sister took on a lot of her duties, such as listening to me on the phone, rattling on for hours about nothing, spoiling me with lots of presents at Christmas (and understanding, but not being offended by my reluctance to open them until hours after they have been given.) She listens to my woes, without judgement, only gives advice when it is specifically sought, and offers sympathy unconditionally. She loves my kids almost as much as I do, and would kill anyone who hurt them. With her bare hands.
She is pretty much fearless, in much the same way my mum was, and always makes me feel like everything will be OK. She tells a story about walking through a deserted park close to the town centre when she was a little girl, with our mum who was pushing our brother in a pushchair, many years before I was born. My sister said that she didn’t want to walk through the park, as there was a strange looking man close to the path, and she was frightened. Mum told her not to worry, and my sister said that she thought he was drunk and that he might hurt them. Mum replied that she could knock him over by just breathing on him. My sister learnt from the master. Sometimes we need someone to reassure us and to give us strength; to make us feel safe. Our mum did that when she was alive, and now my sister does it too.
Sadly, it has bypassed me, and apparently I have traumatised my kids with my all encompassing fear of everything, from rats to turning right onto a main road, stranger danger and choking to death on whole grapes. I thought I was just keeping them safe but it seems that they feel safer away from me and my cautionary advice. Fortunately they are all now invincible and can keep themselves safe (although I am still here, quivering and quaking in the wings in case that ever changes and they need my help.)
My sister and I often have similar tastes. We frequently choose the same birthday cards for family members, often buy the same Christmas cards and last year even bought the same diary – not even from somewhere obvious, but from Home Sense, which is not necessarily the obvious first choice shop when purchasing a new diary. I wondered whether the same thing might happen this year but it didn’t. I always wait until the beginning of January to buy a new diary – in case I receive one for Christmas. This year however, I left it a bit too late, and couldn’t find any nice ones. I ended up with a very dodgy looking one from the bottom of the barrel (Laura Ashley) which has a leopard and ostrich feathers on the front. It was also too big to fit in my handbag. But it was reduced to £2.28, and there was nothing else available. I sent my sister a photo of it, and told her all about my search and how disappointed I was and how much I had loved my one from last year. And she sympathised with me as she also hadn’t been able to find exactly what she wanted and had settled on one from Paperchase. I told her about one I had seen on author Sophie Hannah’s Instagram, which was from Liberty’s of London. The most beautiful diary I have ever seen. I had visited Liberty’s website before I went to Laura Ashley and there were some similar diaries, equally beautiful and half price in the sale, but still way out of my price range. My very lovely sister sent me a message saying she wanted to buy me one as an early birthday present, because she couldn’t have me walking around carrying a diary with a leopard on the front, because it wouldn't fit in my handbag. And today it arrived, and it is truly the most beautiful diary I have ever seen – even more beautiful than Sophie Hannah’s. I can’t wait to write in it, to fill it up with birthdays, holidays, lunches and evenings out, and trips to the theatre (starting with an Agatha Christie play at the Royal on Saturday).
And I am grateful that I have not only a smashing diary, but also a smashing sister, who knows what things are really important to me, and who looks after me just like a mum.
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