My sister and I have never been close. We fought as kids and sniped at each other as teenagers. We moved to different cities for college, and now we’re in different states with our young families.
We’ve never talked often, and when we did, it was never about anything substantive. Now the sparse check-ins have deteriorated into silence. We don’t know each other anymore. The distance has been firmly in place for years, but I’m grieving it afresh today.
Grieving Broken Relationships
This post is about me and my sister, but more than that, it’s about all of our broken relationships, the ones that are painful, the ones we clearly need to repair but have no clue where to begin.
No words will sum up the messy ambiguity. No pictures will describe the longing, frustration and loss. I’m an external processor, though, so I’ll try to find words for the grief, no matter how imperfect they are.
For those who are estranged and unhappy to be so, this is for you.
Dear Sister, How Did We Get Here?
Dear Sister,
How did we get here? A cavern of silence stretches between us. Miles of distance, metaphorically and physically, and enough mistrust to serve as signposts across the gap.
What happened? There was no big explosion that I can remember. No knockdown of an argument. No deluge of pain that crashed over us all at once.
Instead, our pain snaked its way like water across a landscape, carving slowly, deliberately, until it moved and reshaped everything in its path. One biting comment here. A judgment there. Misinterpretation piled on misunderstanding, piled on mistrust, and our relationship is a whole new landscape.
There’s a yawning gap between us. I don’t recognize this place, and I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how to make my way back to you.
We’ve hurt each other, you and me both. In small ways, but significant ways. We’re both to blame. I’m the offended and the offender. I’m the wounded and the aggressor. I’ve dished the pain out and swallowed it down, and so have you.
In a way, I understand your silence. I affirm your distance. This is quite a mess we’ve made, and it won’t be easily fixed. So take your time. Set your boundaries, shore up your heart.
But when you’re ready, I have a few things I want to say to you.
I’m Sorry
I’m sorry.
I’ve never been a good sister to you. I’m sorry. I used to be so insecure, so unsure of myself, that I thought our relationship was a zero-sum game. Your success detracted from mine. Praise and affection for you put me at a deficit. I saw you as a competitor.
I won’t pretend I’m not insecure today, but I know now that there’s plenty of love and blessings for us both. We can cheer for each other. We can be on the same team. Please, can we be on the same team?
Because I’m so proud of you. I’m so inspired by you. You’re strong and capable. You’re creative, patient and nurturing. You’re beautiful.
I don’t think I’ve ever said any of those words to you, and I’m sorry. You’re beautiful and amazing, and I love you.
A Prayer for Healing Broken Relationships
I don’t like this tension between us. I don’t know why we assume the worst in each other. This self-preservation, these resentments, are well-worn ruts. They’re saggy cushions in an old couch, and we’re just sitting here, uncomfortable but unwilling to budge.
I’m afraid that the enemy has taken his seat between us, delighting in the space we’ve made for him and relishing in this fracture. Please, let’s not give him another inch. Let’s kick him out and then set off to make newer, nicer ruts together.
I pray for you every week. I don’t know how to pray anymore or what repair looks like, and my prayers have distilled down to tiny sentences:
God, fix us.
Redeem us.
Redeem all of it.
Hope for Redemption
When we move toward each other again, I want to be like Joseph. Not Joseph the wise, powerful ruler, but Joseph the heartbroken brother.
Joseph, who, when he sees his brothers, is so overcome with emotion that tears overflow from his eyes. Joseph, who heaps as many blessings on his brothers as they can stand. Joseph, who declares that God works good from harm, who sees, knows and experiences his redemption.
Elise
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