“Hey Sis,” she said to get my attention in the store.
She was more than double my age with white hair. She looked like my grandma.
“Mom,” I hissed, “don’t call me Sis,”
I always wanted a sister. Sisters giggle with you when you are supposed to be asleep in bed. They share your clothes and eat the stuff you don’t like. Sisters listen to your secrets and give hugs when you’re sad.
I begged for one for years, but mom was 43 when I was born, and dad 47.
They would look at me like I was nuts for asking for a sister, and shake their gray heads.
“You were just one little girl-baby,” Mom told me, “but you were harder than your three brothers put together.”
Friends said I was lucky. I got a room to myself. I didn’t have to wear hand-me-downs or get tattled on in a fight. But I was jealous of the relationship on the other side of the pink fence.
“Why do you call me ‘Sis?’’’ I asked her.
“Cause, you and I are the only girls in the family,” she said, and I watched the wrinkles around her eyes crinkle when she said it, and felt ashamed at my embarrassment.
Mom had plenty of her own sisters. She didn’t need me to be one of them. In fact my aunts were one reason I wanted a sister. Mom told me stories about growing up with girls in her family.
I pictured their tea parties under the low hanging trees, how they bled German and English, and laughed at their twisted words. Mom told me about play weddings and real ones that spanned her large family. I heard the story of one sister that threw a shoe at the preacher.
Still, when everyone thought she was my grandma I cringed, and having her call me “Sis” in the aisle of JCPenny was humiliating to a girl on the crest of growing up.
She and her sister Irma were always extra-close. They looked alike, mirror images. When they got rolling one started the sentence and the other finished. It seemed they could see into each other’s heads.When everyone thought Mom was my grandma I cringed, and having her call me “Sis” in the aisle of JCPenny was humiliating to a girl on the crest of growing up. Share on X
When they laughed, they swept everyone into its swell, I lived for the joy of it. Tears squeezed out their eyes and barreled off their cheeks. They shook out white hankies and wiped their eyes, foreheads and blew their noses. Watching made me laugh until my sides hurt.
Mom’s gone now. She’s been gone a long time. Maybe I’m going back to square one with the whole sis bit. Because, I miss the side by side we-get-one-another feel. I miss her words and her giggle. I miss the sister-hood of my mom. I miss the white hanky she used to mop up laughter-tears.
The last time I saw her, she was in a nursing home.
“Irma,” she called me.
“No, Mom,” I said, “I’m Sylvia. Your daughter. Irma is your sister.”
But I couldn’t convince her.
She remembered the times she and Irma shelled peas on the west porch.
“No, Mom,” I told her. “That was me, Sylvia, your daughter.”
She remembered when she and Irma went to buy the wedding gown.
“Mom,” I said. “That was for my wedding, remember?”
At the end I didn’t argue anymore. Irma wasn’t just a sister or a daughter, it was a feeling of best-friend love and loyalty. It was belly-laughter tears, stories from long ago, and it was an honor.
I wish I could hear that “Hey, Sis,” in the store aisle again. Now I would yell back, “Hey, Sis” loud and clear. Everyone would turn puzzled, except for Mom. She would smile, pull out her hanky and wave, because we were forged like sisters.
Barbara Latta
So sweet, Sylvia. When my first brother was born, ny parents named him Michael. I wanted a sister so badly, I called him Michael Susie until I became convinced he was really a boy. My mom is gone too, but we know we will see them again. In this we can rejoice. You can say Hi Sis to her again. Happy Mother’s Day!
sylvia schroeder
Thank you Barbara! Love your story! I’m guessing you won’t want to try the Michael Susie on him now! I appreciate you reminding me that yes, the “Hi, Sis!” is still ahead! What a glorious truth. Happy Mother’s Day!
Martha Davis
Love this! I was the oldest of six children and my mom used to call me Sis, sometimes Sister. It always made me feel closer to her. I loved the way you put it, a feeling of best-friend love and loyalty.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you Martha for chiming in. I simply love that your mom called you Sis, and I wish I’d had your perspective back then. I miss her so much. But, grateful I’ll see her again.
Sue Kroeker
I loved this so much, Sylvia. Happy Mother’s Day to you!❤️
Sylvia Schroeder
Happy Mother’s Day to you too, Sue! And thank you so much.
Sharon Cianci-Scott
My lovely mum called me Sis all my life…I loved it, I felt so special!!! Miss my lovely mum but she’s waiting for me in Glory!!
Sylvia schroeder
Thank you Sharon. I’m glad you saw the sweetness of it! Nothing like a mother is there? Miss mine too. Thanks so much. So wonderful hearing from yoi!
Laura
I love the photo and the story. Happy Mother’s Day!
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you so much Laura. Happy Mother’s Day!
Gina Castell
Such a heartwarming story. We miss them, don’t we? ❤️ G
Sylvia Schroeder
Yes we do, Gina. Grateful, it is so… Thanks for reading and responding. Happy Mother’s Day.
Ron Gallagher
Beautiful, Sylvia–the images, the way you brought them to life, and the way the love painted a warm glow over it all. My mom left us back in 2016 and even though we weren’t at odds with each other all that often, I regret not having had the kind of closeness that you and your mother had. Of course, being a guy, if she had called me “sis” in JC Penney’s, we’d have had some serious discussions. Thanks for the sweet memories of my mom that your post brought with it.
Sylvia Schroeder
Ha! I can see the whole “sis” thing from your perspective as a guy would be quite different! Thanks so much for responding. I’m glad it stirred sweet memories.
Lorelei
Sweet read. Truly enjoyed it yet again. Happy Mother’s Day, dear Sylvia.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you Lorelei! Happy Mother’s Day to you too.
Linda Brucato
What a touching tribute to your mom! I miss my mother as well, but so glad she is in Heaven. She didn’t come to Christ until very late in life, but she was filled with the joy of Jesus! My prayer now is for my 13 grand children to walk in His ways! Baci!
Sylvia Schroeder
Linda, I remember your mother’s conversion story. It was so thrilling also because it showed how very gracious and patient Jesus is. Yes. I too pray for our grandchildren and their spiritual legacy. Great to hear from you! Thanks!
Katherine M Pasour
What beautiful memories, Sylvia. I miss my Mama, too. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known. When I grow up, I want to be like her. Thanks for sharing (although you made me cry).
Sylvia Schroeder
I’m always not sure if I should be happy when I make people cry, but there is something sweet about that! Thanks Katherine. I do want to be like my mamma too.
Lois
Such a beautiful picture of your mom and her sisters. My mom loved her sisters, but their relationship was more complicated. And I always longed for a sister as well.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you. Lois. Great to hear from you!
Carolyn A Eumurian
So, it appears you set out to make me teary. No? Well, I don’t have sisters, either, and I know I will miss my mom for myriad reasons when she’s gone from earth, so thank you for reminding me of how precious these relationships are, and to be cherished.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you Carolyn, and I think your Mom is pretty special as well.