I never had siblings. Never liked being an only child. It can be a lonely world, but I peopled it with friends Old friends are the richest in shared memories.
My friend Donna, for instance has been my best friend for over 40 years. Our shared memories are sweet and bittersweet with losses too hard to endure alone. Really more than a friend, my mother often considered her my sister.
A different kind of sister is Jeannette. She never had a sister either, and somehow we became this hyphenated creation. We are soul-sole sisters. Kind of fitting since we are both married to preachers. More than that, we often said we had the same mother. That is an inside joke, I won't explain.
My brother Bob, is adopted. That is, we adopted each other. He had a brother, but no sister, so there you have it. He moved to Oregon, so we chat by phone, and email. My husband met him first, but he didn't need any siblings as I did. So now Des is Bob's brother-in-law.
There you have a glimpse of my made-up family. But among all my friendships, one has outlasted all the rest. My Chicago pal, Sara.
We grew up 3 doors away from each other in Chicago's near north side. Her father owned the three story building they lived in, and my grandfather owned the two story building where I grew up.
The other day, Sara called me up because she heard I'd been in the hospital. Heard it from Tina, another childhood friend who's parents owned the Italian bakery on the corner of our block.
During the phone conversation, Sara reminded me that my parents rented an apartment from her father for the first three months or more of their married life. Therefore, I was surely concieved in that apartment, since I was born the day before their first wedding anniversary. Now how cool is that?
Sara is one year older than I am, so she was crawling around her father's house while I was the gleam in my father's eye, all in the same building.
Can any friendship be older than this. Our memories, too, are bittersweet. Her mother died when Sara was nine years old, and I remember it well. Her mother, a devout Catholic, her father a jolly man who called me 'chickadee.' When she got married, I was in the wedding party.
Years later, divorced with a young daughter, she traveled by train to California and we drove up to see San Francisco. Actually I drove, with my daughter Judith and Sara's daughter Barbara. The four of us, stayed in the Manx Hotel on the cable car line. Great memories.
Sara's next loss was her only child, Barbara, to lymphoma. I admired her courage, and her steadfast faith. A tough broad some might have said. She has a granddaughter, Anna, a lawyer practicing in downtown Chicago. Not everything was taken away from my dear old friend.
She still calls me 'the brat.' Not that I ever deserved it. From her, it is endearing.
So what that I am an only child. Life has been good to me. I managed to produce two great kids, sparing them the only child label. Plus, I married Des who has enough siblings for both of us, especially when you count all the nieces, nephews on down the line.
Here's to friendships, new and old with a nod to Tina down the block and Johnny Lane who lived next door on good old Racine Avenue. Seems we are survivors, all.
So says Sassy.
