The Sister I’ve Never Known

randomlychad  —  June 19, 2013 — 17 Comments

I see her in my mind’s eye: the bright red of her hair shining in the sun’s light, pigtails flying, green eyes sparkling as she swings on the backyard swingset. She is fair-complected like her Irish forebears, freckled by the sun she loves so much.

In my dreams, I stand behind her pushing her higher and higher as she squeals in delight.

“Higher, brother, higher,” she says. So I comply, pushing her up towards the sky.

She is always five, happy, precocious, precious as we play. We roll in the grass, staining our clothes. We chase my cat into the trees behind our parent’s property. She is a joy–full of laughter and life.

I will always keep her safe. No harm will come to her as long as I’m alive. I am her big brother.

Our mother calls us in for dinner. Missy, for that’s her name, can’t come inside. I wonder why. She’s just as much a part of this family as I.

“It’s okay, brother,” she says. “I’ll be here tomorrow when it’s time to play.” I go in for the night, eat my dinner, say my prayers…

Then I wake up. I’m not a little boy, but a man grown. And then I remember: I’ve never met my sister. Her life ended before it even began, scraped from our mother’s womb. Because two sons, and a burgeoning career, were enough–perhaps too much.

I see my sister, sitting on Daddy’s knee, laughing, waiting for me. Someday the faith shall be sight.

Until then, Missy.

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randomlychad

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Christ-follower, husband, dad, blogger, reader, writer, movie buff, introvert, desert-dweller, omnivore, gym rat. May, or may not, have a burgeoning collection of Darth Vader t-shirts. Can usually be found drinking protein shakes, playing with daughter, working out with his son, or hanging out with his wife. Makes a living playing with computers. Subscribe to RandomlyChad by Email

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  • Dude, your writing is often so raw (not a bad thing). I don’t envy you for having to go through these trials and tribulations, but I admire you for finding a way to work through it and deal with it.

  • Thanks, Jon! I often write for me, and am just as often pleasantly surprised to find that I’m not alone. That others have been there. Plus the act of writing itself is very cathartic. It’s a kind of therapy. Thanks for reading!

    • I may not always comment, but I always read. I agree that writing can be very therapeutic.

  • Wow, Chad—that was powerful

    • Thanks, Chris! Had to hold back the tears--and I wrote it!

      • Honestly I cannot imagine the pain of that moment. I mean, I have my own pains from my past, but…wow

        • And I can’t imagine the board of education, Chris. There are so many things I didn’t learn about my folks, and my childhood, until just recently…

  • troy mc laughlin

    Thanks for sharing this post. Also for giving dignity to a life that you never knew. Thanks for sharing your heart Chad.

    • Thanks for reading, and sharing, Troy!

  • ShandaSargent

    Chad… WOW… I am fighting back tears. This is a powerful and moving post. Thank you for honoring the life of one you love, yet haven’t met, but will meet someday. I think, perhaps, God may have peeled back another layer of your healing in sharing this story. Blessings to you, friend.

    • Thanks for reading! You might be right--have been holding onto this for a long time.

  • Anne

    Nicely written and very touching, but also very judgemental. Have you spoken to your mother why she had the abortion? Perhaps it was a medical reason? We each have to walk in our own shoes, and I am sure your mother also grieves in her own way, but find out the facts first. And yes, write your book.

    • Thanks for your comment! Much appreciated. I left it out, but this is what my mother told me: she had two boys, a career, and didn’t have time for another child. Additionally, she told me not to tell my grandmother (her mother).

      I’m following the Anne Lamott rule here: “If people wanted to write warmly of them they should’ve behaved better.”

  • Cherri Vondervellen

    There is a need for a book like this for siblings. When our little girl was stillborn I couldn’t find anything for my children. This is beautiful.

    • I actually hadn’t thought of this, but my wife wants to write a children’s book. Have to talk to her about it.

  • My wife has an older brother waiting for her in Heaven. She, too, met him in a dream, though the dream was situated in Heaven. The other big difference was that my brother-in-law was stillborn.

    • What a reunion that will be (even though they’ve never met)!