I Met My Sister in a Letter

December 8^th, 1993 is the day I met my sister in a letter.

“Dear Liza”, it read. I just love that. Somehow, I could hear her rich English accent through each letter with a particular emphasis on that “z”. Of course, no one else on this earth has ever called me Liza. I loved that. I can remember gingerly handing the letter as if it would crumble to pieces in my hands should I breathe too hard on it.

“This is my sister. My sister that I never even knew existed until a few weeks ago” I chanted in a whisper. It was almost a dream.

“In my wildest dreams, I never imagined you writing to me…” She said back to me in the letter.

I know why she never imagined it. She never imagined it, because neither of us knew about the other. My sister is my father’s daughter. She was adopted by an English couple and her adoption records sealed off from our dad. She was raised in England and I was raised in America.

I’ll never forget our first phone call. I nearly held my breath as she, through her soft spoken accent, began to tell me about her life, her children, and her desire to meet all of us.

We met shortly after the first letter and phone correspondence. We picked her up at LAX and brought her home. The poor thing was so ill from the flight she had to be rushed to the hospital. No complaints though. That, I’ve learned, is the trademark of my sister. She never complains. As we talked over those two weeks, I was amazed to discover that empty piece I’d always felt existed somewhere within was filled. It was almost a physical sense.

I thought about how as a child I’d often wondered if I were adopted. I’d always felt a little odd and out of place. I’d even experimented with different last names as soon as I was old enough to dislike the one I had.

Our next meeting, again in my little hometown, she brought her three beautiful children. Her children and mine would look at us from time to time in wonder as we would say the exact same phrase at the exact same time. It was odd…even to us.

Then, we just began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. It seemed every phone conversation that followed was filled with belly laughter so deep that we might need to prepare the next time with sit-ups before we spoke. Everything seemed funny and right.

It has been an amazing experience to have this sister who has so greatly enriched my life. I love her not just because she is my sister and nearly my twin in so many ways, but because she is a beautiful caring person.

If you have a sister and can reach her-hug her. I wish mine were close enough to do this today. The ocean seems too big today.