Prior to the hostile ravishing cancer plagued upon my sister, she was so alive. Not just breathing. She was ALIVE. When you would see her, you could absolutely see the gleam of mischief in her eyes. It really never matter where you were, or who you were with, my sister would make it a good time.
When my husband and I bought a house, Saturdays with my sister at my house became unwritten law. It wasn’t always every Saturday. During the winter, it could sometimes only be one Saturday a month due to the rough MidWest weather. However, once that heat turned up, so did her and her kiddos.
There was never a plan. Just a phone call from one of us to the other. “Just us? Or the boys too?” (As a little filler here, we have four brothers. I am the oldest and her and her twin are youngest.)
Sometimes, it would be a full-out BBQ with all six siblings and their kiddos.
Sometimes, it was just us. It was our “secret”. Pizza. Lasagna. Homemade donuts. Breakfast. Spaghetti. Double dinners because we just couldn’t decide on just one. Movies. Music. Singing. Dancing. My house was full of laughs. Pure gut laughs. Those real laughs that can verge on embarrassing.
Then there were times when the party left the house. Her and I would leave the kids with my husband. We would just go. Drive with the windows down, the music up and voices soaring. I can see her vividly right now to my left in the driver’s side. One hand on the wheel, the other hand moving all over to the music. Shoulders moving side to side. Singing like she was a star on Broadway. If it was a good enough song, we were doing a duet to any passer-by. Stopped a red light making other people laugh when they saw our musical production.
We never really had a destination.
We were never really headed anywhere.
We were just us.
Just us with so much incredible love.
Just us with unconditional joyful love.
That’s what those Saturdays were. Just us.