My Sister

Menswear collection,  hand-painted silk,  1987

Menswear collection, hand-painted silk, 1987


This past weekend,  my sister took my nephew off to his first year of college.

I did not grow up in an environment of respect and love.

I really am at odds to fathom how my sister raised her children with such a loving heart,  openness to her two kids’ individual needs and wants,  a giant dollop of good cookin’ and the ready listening ear she is for her spectacular children.

I know she’s hurting today in a home that feels alien in its’ emptiness.

How,  exactly,  do we learn to love?

How do we do that thing if we’ve not had a trustworthy model?

Each of my three siblings has seemed to draw from some mystical well and pull up the instructions for loving their kids well.

It truly baffles me.   And makes me quite proud.

I chose to keep my art at my center and not to have kids.   I married late, at 40,  which lasted 4 years,  but was never drawn toward raising a family.

These choices were true to my nature and I am ever grateful I knew to make them.

Even so,   as I pull through all the pretense I previously cloaked myself in before being diagnosed with MS,  that  ‘love manual’  my siblings seemed privy to is mine,  now,  to peruse.

I feel a bit of an innocent,  however.

The essential Cathy ain’t been too present till lately.

Can’t really love if you’re not all there.

Today’s post is really to honor my sisters’ magnificent job of mothering a son she now releases into the world to find his own flight plan.

I feel so good that the world gets to have him as he is an extraordinary young man and the world will be better for him.

Learning to let go with love.. gotta be somewhere in this  ‘manual’  here….


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