Sisterly Ice Melt

 

As I walked along the wintery shores of Lake Michigan with my two sisters I felt the 150 years of connection bonding us to each other. The frozen lake is ominous and beautiful. In some places the white of the ice is so white that it looks silver. The subtle movement of the ice on the lake, rhythmic and peaceful, is like god breathing deep below the surface.

Watching the floating ice blocks in the lake I thought of us, once frozen together into a single chunk, three girls together, moving through the water. When we were young, so close in age, each managing the chaos of our childhoods, we wove ourselves into each other, not even knowing it was happening. As we’ve grown older we’ve stepped in and out of closeness over the years, the times of separation always feeling wrong, uncomfortable, almost unbearable.

It’s different now. We are three women in our fifties, each living in a different city in a different state. As I walked with my sisters, carefully watching our steps to prevent falls for our aging bodies, our eyes leaking tears from the cold, the skin on our cheeks tightening with the wind, I noticed a shift. 

We are not often all together, just the three of us. Today, as we walked, our sisterhood felt more spacious, more open. It was like the molecules of the solidly frozen block that contained us all for so many years had warmed a little bit, enough for cracks to form and become separate floats of ice.

For so many years, for so many reasons, we were united for survival. We each understood each other in ways that only we could. As we walked that day, side by side, I felt a deep contentment, a familiar comfort in being with both of my sisters in our home town, bundled up like when we were kids. 

At the same time I felt like an observer. The space between us was clear. We are each our own person, different from each other, living our distinct lives all over the country. We all have children of our own now and jobs, and partners and communities. There is much about each of our lives unknown to the others. We are floating in different directions, yet fundamentally part of the same block of ice, further away from each other, but always close. 

As I buckled in for the four-hour flight back to the west coast I thought about my sisters. We’ve spent so much time in our lives afraid of separating. We created drama and conflict to keep the energy alive when it was waning. I’ve spent years in therapy talking about my relationship with my sisters. I think about both of them every single day.

My therapist says that when images accompany a feeling, it is a sign that there is a depth of knowing, a deeper awareness or understanding. The separated ice blocks tell the story that I feel. I am calm and comforted as I imagine my sisters and I, each as one part of a bigger piece of ice, floating close together, but independent of each other. 

Our unified ice block was necessary in the past. We needed it when we were young. We needed to show our allegiance and support to each other against the world. But we don’t need it any more. We’re all okay. The space between us now is a good thing. With a little bit of space we can see each other more clearly. As we float on the surface of the water, our differences can come into focus, each of our distinct shapes, contours, and textures become visible. After so many years, we can truly see each other.