It was just a usual Sunday evening, you know the kind…homemade spaghetti, repetitive arguments, and loving banter. Every Sunday evening, without fail, I would join my parents and brother for a family meal. It was tradition, and a necessity (I always had tons of laundry to do). 

On this ordinary Sunday, 7 years ago, the phone rang. I was lounging on the couch, not wanting to move, for fear I would explode from the copious amounts of carbs consumed. My brother was sneaking a cigarette on the back porch. My parents were having their after dinner guilt cigarette in the garage. The call went to the machine. Out of nowhere, a voice. 

Dad, pick up. I know you’re there. Dad…

I sat up stick straight. Surely it was a mistake, a wrong number? But, something felt familiar about that voice. It was my voice. How many times had I called my parents and left the same exact message? 

My brother came around the corner from the living room, and just stared at me. I stared back. 

In a trance, we walked together to the garage. We just stared at our parents. They knew. They knew we knew. 

Well, here we go, they said. 

Here we go. 

From then on, my life was drastically altered. On that lazy, regular, nothing-special-Sunday, I found out that I had two sisters. Sisters. 

I don’t want to get into the why’s and how’s of the happenstance that one who had yearned for the connection of a sister all her life, in fact, had sisters all along, yet didn’t find out until the ripe old age of 25. I will say that my dad was married before my mother and he had two daughters. The divorce from his first wife was not pretty and thus, you have two seperate families, existing a continent apart from each other. 

How can a mother tell her daughter that she has sisters, sisters she will likely never meet due to the circumstances surrounding their father’s estrangement? Especially when that daughter really wanted a sister named Summer and she cried as if the world were ending when she found out her new sibling was a brother, named Jarrett (does that make me a bad person?)

I never connected with the sister who called looking for our dad, but through her, I found Tracy. 

How can I express how I felt during the hours, days, months after first speaking to the sister I always wanted, until that humid day in Philadephia when I first laid eyes on her? I don’t think I have the literary ability, or its impossible to articulate into words the emotion felt when you finally find your kindred spirit. 

We spoke every day. Our conversations were filled with questions, so many questions. 

What is your favorite food? What kind of music do you like? What is your favorite color? Who are you? Who have you been all these years I didn’t know you? 

Despite never being raised together, Tracy and I share likenesses that are uncanny. Despite the fact she’s 16 years older than me, we are like long-lost twins. I could go into every way we are the same, but it may not mean the same to you as it does to us.

I was sweating profusely and didn’t sleep a wink during the entire red eye to Philadelphia. Meeting someone for the first time is always scary, but to meet your sister for the first time? Maddeningly nerve-wracking. Doubts plagued my thoughts. 

What if we don’t get along? What if it’s awkward? What if…

The second I laid eyes on her, a sense of knowing crept though my veins.

Why of course, there you are. 

I knew her. She was my sister. Never having met her, yet she was always there, being my sister. Through every lost tooth, knee scrape, broken heart, she’s always been there. 


Author: fattymccupcakes

Just a thirty-something girl trying to love herself the way she is: fat, rolls, cellulite, and fabulousness.

26 thoughts on “Sister ”

  1. I found out when I was 12 I had a sister from my father’s side – he disowned her for his own insecurities. I’ve since tried contacting her, but can’t find her once he passed.. Enjoy it, it’s priceless! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What the, is this for real? I almost have the exact same story. Met my half-sister when I was 25 also. She’s way older than me though; her daughters (technically my nieces) are closer to my age than she is.

    I can talk forever about this, discovering family as an adult. It’s a total mindfuck.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Even weirder, I’m also 32 (well I’ll be 33 soon, but we know it’s all the same at this point).

        Guess it’s safe to say that you’re the Whitegirl version of me and I’m the Asian guy version of you; and you definitely the raw end of the deal on this one.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I could say so much about this, but that would take up an entire blog post. I have three half-siblings who were all but abandoned by my dad. Our features are spot on,but our lives were vastly different. They envy us for “getting to grow up with our dad”. We envy them for being raised without him. The grass is always greener somewhere.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow that’s amazing! 😀 I’m glad you guys are getting along although it would be weird if you didn’t because I don’t think there’s anyone you wouldn’t actually get along with. 🙂 It does NOT make you a bad person just because you cried for a little sister. I cried for ages for my older sister to disappear and be replaced with an older brother. I’m not sure if THAT makes me a bad person..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. A lovely post, and a beautiful story! And surprise – It’s Cathy here from “askauntycath”!! I’ve had to move my website (I will be posting about it soon). I’ve “Followed” you from my new website at “Cat in the Cactus” – and I’m hoping you will Follow me back so we can keep journeying through the Blogosphere together. Cathy xx ps: I will keep my old site going as I transition across. See you there!

    Liked by 1 person

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