One of the highlights of the trip was going to Savannah to see my sister.
I love my sister. She and I have been through a lot and have always been each other's reality test when it came to long buried family events. Like the time my mother got up and left the restaurant when my father went to the bathroom. And him jumping in the back of the open station wagon window.
No one else ever admitted it happened. But we both remembered it. Keeps you from feeling crazy, having someone remind you that you are not making it up.
She recently bought a house just outside of Savannah, moving back to the east coast after years in Arizona. It's nice to be in the same time zone but I do miss waking her up too early.
She bought a beautiful home on a bunch of acres of land. Odds are that she'll fill them up with animals of some sort. She has a big heart, that one, and when there is a lost puppy or stray cat that passes by, it doesn't stay homeless long.
I can tell she's worked really hard to put her life together. So many people for so long have taken advantage of my seester. She's finding some good boundaries and I'm very proud of her.
We don't agree on politics, religion, issues around race, or socio-economic class. We still find a lot to laugh about all the time. Something about surviving it all leaves us with the ability to tell stories that make most people wince from the level of pain but we're laughing so hard we're about to wet our pants.
Sure beats crying. It is, however, an acquired sense of humor. I don't recommend it.
For long ago reasons, my seester and I talk to each other in odd accents. It drives my wife crazy. The kids have even picked up on some of them. In defeat, Jeanine finally started calling her my "seester" and of course we loved that.
It's been a long road and in many ways, she's my only family of origin left.
I love my seester.
Even when she makes me laugh too hard.