Sisters . . . or observations from a bathroom stall

I have 5 sisters. I always thought that really meant something. LOL

Awhile ago, Darrin and I went to the Monte L. Bean Life Science Museum at BYU with our son. We spent some time walking around, looking at the exhibits, having some fun. As usually happens with me, my bladder began to call to me. Off I traipsed to the bathroom. As I sat down in one of the 3 ancient stalls, I had an epiphany.

Almost all of my sisters and I have gone to BYU. The one that hasn't lived right by there for years. All of us have been to that museum. All of us have taken our kids there. Even my mom has been there. It struck me, as I sat there on that toilet, looking at the walls of the stall that had undoubtedly been there since the Eisenhower administration, that each and every one of my sisters and my mom had probably sat upon the very throne upon which I sat! What an intriguing and ironic thought!

You see, at that point in time, it struck me as ironic because I felt certain that my buttocks were firmly planted where theirs had surely been planted before, and yet, I would likely never see any of them again. I began to cry. Yes, right there in the bathroom stall of the Monte L. Bean Life Science Museum on the BYU campus, I cried like a baby.

I have always craved, even pined for a relationship with my sisters. Oh, what I would have given for a real sister! You know the type - late night talks, giggling, hugging, weekend visits, long talks on the phone, excited to see each other, "Oh, how I've missed you!" kind of sister! But alas! No. Born one of six sisters, and even blessed with three sisters-in-law, I was never so lucky to have one of them who wanted to be my friend.

Was I so undesirable as all that? See, I grew up wondering that? I wish I could say I had outgrown that question. I wish I could say I had matured beyond that insecurity. I'm still just that lonely girl who thinks there must surely be something wrong with me that none of my sisters want me.

Mary is my oldest sister. She's nearly 20 years older than me. I can see why she wouldn't be interested in me. I mean, she's old enough to be my mom, right? But as I grew, I tried so hard to connect with her. I saw her make friends with my sister who is 2 years older than me, and she just didn't seem interested in me. She just never seemed to approve of me. I really love her husband, though. He's such a good guy. I never feel clumsy around him, like I do around her.

Kathy is my next oldest sister. Oh, how I used to worship her! I would have gone to the ends of the earth for her! I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Then I grew up, and I still thought she was the bees knees. When I was in college she asked me to come spend the night with her when she was alone and having a miscarriage. I was scared to death, but I had to be there for her. I adored her, and would never have left her alone. Then, years later, we had a difference of opinion, and she decided she was done with me. She hasn't spoken to me in several years. She won't have anything to do with me.

Cindy is next down the line. When my sister just older than I am was born, she "claimed" her as her baby. Then when I came along, Cindy already had one, so she didn't need me. LOL That's the way it has always been, I suppose. She really has had no real need for me. It has always felt that way. I have tried so hard to force my way into her life. I guess she really just doesn't understand how desperately I have needed her love. How can you make someone love you? I know - you can't. I couldn't. I've seen her try, but it was always forced. You can't pretend such things. It just always seemed like she was pretending. I wish she could just figure out how to be my friend, and stop treating me like a little girl.

And then there's Beth. Since Cindy claimed Sarah as "her" baby, Beth claimed me, by default. I really did love Beth. Oh, I followed her around like a lost puppy dog. She could do absolutely no wrong in my eyes. Beth is 8 years older than I am. When I was little she took me places with her, and her friends would tell me how much I looked like her. I was so proud of that because I thought she was so pretty. She was my hero. When we would go on family trips I would snuggle on her lap. She was my "Bethie", and I was her "Ruthie". In our adult years, I continued to give her my heart as I did when I was little. I thought we were the best of friends. I supported her through her times of heartache. I was there for her when she needed me. And when the most horrible thing in my entire life came upon me, she tore my heart out and left me bloody and dying.

Last but not least, there is Sarah. She never liked me, not for a second. My stomach turns when I think of her. I know that I deluded myself into believing that she cared for me at times. I would have given my life for just one kind word from her at any time. I agonized over every minute I was with her. I lived in hell by her side. She was the most cruel person I have ever known. We shared a bedroom all of our growing years. We even lived together in college. Everyone thought we were great friends - that would be because I just followed her around everywhere and tried everything I could think of to please her. I wanted her approval so desperately. I talked like her. I dressed like her. I wanted her friends. I wanted her to LOVE me!!! She was only 2 years older than me, and I always just thought we should have been friends. It made sense to me. Why wouldn't we be friends? It was obvious, wasn't it? But when we were quite young, she had a new friend over - Lora Miller. I remember the day quite distinctly. I remember the introduction, word for word: "This is my sister, Ruth. But I hate her." And that was it. Life pattern set. End of story. Script written for the rest of my life with her. You might think that was just a silly sibling thing that would pass. It never did. I was only a convenience for her when someone better wasn't around, and there was usually someone better around. We haven't spoken in over a year. The last conversation we had was via email, and she made sure to let me know what a horrible nuisance I had always been to her growing up. I wrote back, releasing her from that burden once and for all.

Other women have come and gone in my life. I have desperately yearned for a sister. I have found other sisters who have had great love for me. My own mother left me, and then returned to me. She loves me.

And yet, I still feel this empty place where my own sisters should be. Shouldn't they be there? Am I wrong to feel this? Is something wrong with me that they don't want me? What is it about me, that a lifetime of being who I am has just turned them away? Why can they just not accept me for who I am? In my time of greatest crisis they turned me out, deserted me and left me to die alone.

Why is it that I still miss them?