Letters from the Heart

My sister and I have always been close. This letter reminded us both of how we felt for each other.

TO MY YOUNGER SISTER

Dear Jacquelyn,

When I think of our relationship, or of you, I always see us as children—you, my younger sister, following me everywhere, happily. Not really everywhere, though, since “everywhere” is always one spot, and you’re not really following me, we’re just playing together. But this is what I see: We are living on Pine Grove Drive in the white ranch house, the first one I remember; the grass is green (summer?) and we are at the fence behind Paris’s, the neighbor’s across the street. Beyond us, facing east, the hill and woods tower beyond the sand pit, but right now I don’t see them.

The fence, built like it was supposed to corral large four-legged animals, sheep or cattle or horses, ended on the side we always used by jutting up against another fence, this one of wire squares with a green steel post at the corner. We could just squeeze between to the two fences, but most of the time we either climbed over or through, between the two parallel horizontal logs (because it was much easier) on our way to the sand pit. But on this day we are not going to there, I’m not sure we were going anywhere, just being at the Paris’s fence, you and me. Maybe even the fence next door was not built yet—I don’t usually see it when I look around—but you are there with me, and there is a compelling compatibility between us, a harmony that is so strong it eclipses any individual moments of our lives; any, or many, instances of disharmonious actions or words which may have occurred between us over the decades since, and puts a spin on our relationship which colors my perception of you to this day.

It seemed so natural and appropriate, when we were older, that all my friends were your friends. And the adventures we shared together make up many of the more “interesting” stories I may never tell my children. Like the 4 a.m. hitch-hike from Pittsfield to Worcester that ended in the group arrest of Thom, you and I in Connecticut; the junior/senior “prom” we both went to, telling our parents we were each going somewhere different, but ending up at that campfire in the middle of a six-hundred acre field with thirty or fifty of our friends (the first night I ever stayed up all night), then creeping in the house at 7:15 a.m., pretending to arrive at different times but everyone was asleep so it didn’t matter; several parties at the Edward Avenue apartment or at friends’ houses when parents were away; making mischievous phone calls with Didi at Thom’s and, after telling that compassionate woman she was a little girl stranded at the theater, regretting it later.

Then when we lived on our own, having apartments in the same building, or you generously sharing yours with me on my returns from Europe, or California, or wherever, when I no longer lived in the Berkshires, always making me feel welcome and appreciated, continuing that nurturing friendship that had developed so young.

Did I ever tell you it was your qualities that first drew me to my future wife? That spin that flavored our relationship, sweet, giving, friendly, is the same color Janet wears all the time, an agreeable, nourishing hue which endeared her to me immediately, giving her the benefit of all the appreciation I had been giving you most of my life. When I had my jyotish horoscope read once, the first time, the astrologer looked at me and asked, “Is there qualities of sister in wife?” Answering “yes” I told him how I often call you each by the other’s name (which I do with great regularity).

And, after her, its always you that I want to share things with first; whenever I hear a great new record, like Kenny G’s latest, or read an enchanting book, like “Walking Up a Rainbow” I want to send you a copy to share it with you. Whenever there is some exciting news, like getting married, or buying a house, or having a child, I can’t wait to share it with you (especially if it’s funny)
because I know you’ll appreciate it. The same way I appreciate you.

Take care, and may your life grow in delight.

Love to you always,

Your brother

© David Adelson. All rights reserved. These "Letters from the Heart" were previously published as a column in the Quincy Herald-Whig in Illinois.