The Long Way Home

Three by Three

For better or worse, it was never boring living in a matriarchal household. 

It was always the three of us from the time my parents divorced when I was 7 and my sister 4. And it’s difficult for me to put into words the roads we have traveled together and apart – too personal, possibly, for the Internet. I’ve had my differences with my mother over the years and now that I’m an adult, we’ve reached a quiet understanding, a way of sharing through the beauty of the everyday — flowers she has planted, a vintage dress I just bought, boxes of old photos she is letting me scan for my collection.  Small ways of sharing.

My sister and I are so different (I still call her Crayon, a last name we christened our pretend-family when we played house). She’s a practical, no-nonsense mother of three, and I’m a creative dreamer. But we share a strange, dark sense of humor that we inherited from our mother, shaped by childhood experiences. Our odd way of looking at the world that made us who we are today. 

 

 

 

 

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