Sister Sister

“Is this your daughter?” the young teenage cashier asked. “No, this is my little sister,” she said with a grin.  The girl smiled out of slight embarrassment and handed us the groceries. “Have a nice day!”  I skipped out of the small grocery store behind my sister chuckling.  My sister Missy was only in her mid- twenties, and I was ten years old.  I remember thinking how much I liked that the girl thought we were related, and that my sister didn’t say anything about me being adopted...

One of my favorite things growing up was when one of my sisters would come to visit me and my parents.  Once, when I was only about five years old, my oldest sister Amy was coming home from college for a weekend visit.  I was SO excited.   While mom was working around the house, I was sitting by the window waiting for Amy's arrival. I had a plan: when I saw her car turn in the drive way I would pour both of us a glass of tea from the full pitcher that my mom had just made.  Did I mention that the pitcher was full, and I was five years old? Yeah, I think you know where this is going.  I spotted her car turning in and bounded for the kitchen.   I grabbed the glasses of ice I had already prepared and set them on the table. As I tilted the pitcher, gravity took over and sweet tea now covered the table, the floor, and me.  In walks Amy to a sea of tea, and me who stood there disapointingly with tears forming.  Plan failed.   She hugged me as I explained the way things were supposed to happen, and then helped me and mom mop up the mess. 

My sisters were 14 and 16 when I came into the Cashion family.  I immediately became their human baby doll.  The played with me, dressed me up in silly hats, took me around to all their friends at school, and yes—they got me to say bad words when my parents weren’t looking.   They patiently waited at Christmas for me to open all my gifts first, and helped me put together my new toys.  They included me in their weddings, and in all of their black Friday shopping adventures.  They made the drive to my plays, cheered me on at graduations, chatted with me at 2 am about boy problems, and stood beside me on my wedding day. Not once did they ever make me feel…adopted.  

It is one thing as an adoptee to be loved and accepted as part of the family by your parents. After all, they are the ones who picked you out and legally committed to love and care for you.  Being accepted as a sibling is so different, and in a way, a deeper love and commitment.  They don’t have to accept you.  They can treat you like Cinderella if they want to, and talk about you behind your back.  They don’t have to share their toys and adventures and special days.  All these things are privileges for us adopted kids.  I think this is especially true if you are coming into a sisterhood.  There is something unexplainable about the bond between women, and when it is a familial tie that’s even stronger.  Not only that, but when my parents set out to adopt a child, they were looking for a boy. Surprise! Here I came to join and complete the girl power that is my family (we’re up to 11 women now and I am yet to have my kids), and become a candidate for the sisterhood of Cashion women. 

I don’t think I could begin to thank or explain how much their, not just acceptance, but overwhelming welcome of love meant and means to me.

This really is something that as adopted parents you have little control over. All you can do is, raise your biological kids in love and in the Lord and pray for friendships to form, bonds to be made, and the trust of siblinghood to be developed.

I think it was a cross between this love that I had with my sisters, and the fact that we didn’t have any boys in our family, that always drove a curious desire to connect with biological siblings. Next to my birth mother (and definitely above my birth father) I always have wanted to know if I there more “kids” like me running around somewhere.   In fact I have not one, but three half-brothers! Surprise again! 

For once in my life I was the big sister.  I remember step nervously into the sea of people at the Venezuelan airport.  I was met with flowers, balloons, and three sweet boys who hugged and kissed me just like the long lost sister I was.  During our short time together we traded small conversations of mixed Spanish and English, ate meals, celebrated a birthday, and played soccer (they actually thought I was good so I know they are sweet). 

I would like to say that we have a great relationship, but unfortunately it is not more than friends.   This is not their fault.  They have written numerous cards and sent me messages of warm greetings and love.  Sometimes the things we pray and wait for the longest end up very differently once we arrive there.  Even though I had wanted to connect with my birth mother and family all my life, I wasn’t prepared for what all that would entail.   The imaginary figures you have always dreamed about become real people, with flesh and bone, feelings, and dreams of their own.  I have thought so much about the months and now becoming years that have followed finding the woman who gave me life. I felt like once I found them and had this whole other family, it was like I was on the edge of some sort of strange double life.  If I accepted this new life and family, I felt like I would be betraying the one who had supported me for 21 years.  Could I really have both?  As an introvert, there are only a handful of people that I really connect to and keep close contact with.  The idea of instantly adding 20 people to this handful was incredibly overwhelming, and caused me to shut them out altogether rather than allow them in one at a time.  All this to say, that if I could do things again I would do them very differently.  Mainly, I would get to know each person in my Venezuelan family on a one on one personal basis: beginning with my birth mother and siblings, and then moving through everyone else in the family.  I think I was and am most sad that my brothers got caught in the middle of my own personal confusion.  All they wanted was a big sister to love and accept them, and I ended up treating them like they were the adopted ones.  I acted the way I was glad my sisters didn’t act towards me.  I love each one of them so much with my heart, but my mind always wants to trip me up and stop me short of acting on it. Slowly, things are beginning to turn around, and one day I hope I can be the sister that they always dreamed of.

For the mean time, I am learning from the best.  They have been with me during every step of my adoption journey, and just lived life with me.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Much love to you ladies—you will always have a special piece of my heart.