Gosh, I wish my sister and I didn’t live 765 miles away from each other; this photo expresses exactly how I feel.
We visit each other, but not often enough, and when we do visit each other, it’s just not the same. If we lived next door to each other we could pop into each other’s homes, take walks together, and talk face to face instead of by telephone.
We’re not getting any younger, nor are our husbands. Having close proximity to each other would guarantee in-person support for when life takes a toll on our bodies and minds, and let’s face it, regardless of how healthy you think you are, life happens when you least expect it. Our mother’s death, while she slept, is proof of that. So is our father’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease that took his life four years later.
My sister, Mary, and I are creatives: she’s an artist (paints and such) who holds gallery events, and I’m a writer and a published author. In so many respects, Mary is just about my most ardent supporter, as I am of her. When we’re neglecting our craft, we remind each other of the passion that brought us to this place, and that what we produce needs to be in the hands of others to benefit them.
Yep, Mary is my best friend and best friends should live closer to each other so they can have a front row seat to what life sends their way. I don’t at all predict my imaginary neighborhood will ever come to pass, but what I can predict is how close Mary and I will remain on this unpredictable and impermanent journey called life.