You know, it’s hard being an older sibling. Not that I have any personal experience in that regard, mind you. I don’t. But I imagine it must occasionally feel like a weighty burden to shoulder.
I watch the sibling relationships between the felines and canines in this household and marvel at how much they ‘get’ each other. The whole cat/dog mythology is mostly, in my opinion, an extension of the male/female propaganda box we put ourselves into. There’s a lot more playfulness and actual caring going on between species than we care to admit.
Just this morning I was treated to a prolonged interaction between Cletus and Brutus. It probably seemed longer to me because at any moment I expected Cletus to haul off and whack Brutus into next week. And it’s in those moments when I’ve witnessed the most startling acts of gentleness.
But there are also some nuts and bolts training going on as well.
“I love you, Cletus!” – Photo: L. Weikel
Knock It Off
I led this blog post off with the photo above because it made me laugh. I hope it had a similar effect on you as you begin this mid-week of December. There’s a lot going on in the world. We need to remain limber and loose as we head into the final few weeks of 2021.
Of course, Brutus thinks Cletus is an icon. Perhaps someday Brutus can aspire to grow his black and white hair as long and luxurious as Cletus grows his. Of course, when he realizes his idol isn’t running away from him for once, he leans in to give him an impulsive, if utterly sincere, smooch.
Cletus, shocked by the youngster’s lack of decorum exercises restraint, but can’t help but whisper some advice into young Brutus’s ear. Whether it’s appropriate for the rest of the world to hear is debatable.
“I’ll tell you what…” – Photo: L. Weikel
The Way of the World
Judging by the expression on Brutus’s face, I have a feeling Cletus schooled the pup in some classic naughty words. It’s the way of the world. That’s what older siblings do. They pave the way for our growth, intentionally or otherwise. A well-placed claw can be one of the first hard lessons of the cruelties facing us in the outside world.
All in all, though, watching their relationship develop is an absolute delight. And I love imagining their conversations.
Brutus eyeing me up while Pacha pokes a caterpillar – Photo: L. Weikel
Diversity
It’s amazing to me how siblings can have the same parents and yet have utterly divergent personalities and proclivities. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, though – not when I consider the nature of my work and the things I’ve seen. But the astonishing diversity of life’s expression, whether it be human or animal, always holds a certain mystery.
Pacha and Brutus have been bringing this concept home for me lately. I know they are litter-mates. I saw their brothers (Pacha was the only female of the lot), and I played with their parents. And while they didn’t seem like clones of each other, you could definitely tell they were all playful and loved.
Right off the bat, though, Brutus wanted to be cuddled. He practically ran into my lap when I crouched down to sit cross-legged on the family’s front lawn. And while he couldn’t resist popping up and scurrying around to tumble and tug with his siblings, he would occasionally (and endearingly) touch base with me by running back and hopping into my lap again.
Pumpkin Scarfer
Pacha, on the other hand, seemed intent on ripping into a slightly smashed pumpkin that was under a bench at the side of the yard. She furtively snuffled her little piggy snout into the soft orange flesh and clearly relished scarfing it up. She joined in on the sibling tumbles too – and made a point of currying favor with Karl – but she was also definitely more independent.
Carrying that attitude forward, she continues to be a free-thinker. She eschews the limits we place on her and gives us the paw at every opportunity.
Most recently, she’s begun bending into a ‘down dog’ yogic position and barking at me when I call to her and ask/coax/command her to ‘come’ to me. A most defiant little pup. Not to worry; I’ve spoken to some who know what they’re doing – and I’m cautiously optimistic that she’ll soon realize I’m a bigger dog than she is. But it does make me wonder at their seemingly almost opposite personalities.
Puppy Pile (Pacha on top) – Photo: L. Weikel
Unique
Ultimately, we’re all unique. Only some of the diversity of our ‘selves’ can be explained by genetics. At least that’s my opinion. Yes, genes can combine in a vast array of different sequences, all creating different combinations of characteristics, etc. But I also think there’s something to be said for the individuality of our souls. And yes, I do believe animals have souls. They may not be quite the same as human souls, but there is something there when you look into an animal’s eyes that has a distinct essence to it that goes beyond skin, bones, and brain function.
I’m just scratching the surface of what I think about sometimes when I watch these pups interact with us, each other, and the other beings that inhabit this household.
But for now, all I’m saying is, there’s a reason why sometimes there may seem to be more photos of Brutus than there are of Pacha. He hangs around with me and gives me more photo-ops. Pacha would rather be out raiding a pumpkin patch or gnawing bark off our maple tree. (Sigh.) Or just giving me the paw.
Jane and Fr. Tom – The Two Gallaghers; Photo: L. Weikel
Love and Respect
My parents had kids over a span of 18 ½ years. As the youngest, I’ve found myself chasing the love and respect of my siblings for pretty much my entire life. Each of them set an example or raised the bar in some area of their lives that pushed me to strive to be or do my best. I’ve always been trying to catch up to them.
One of the most interesting of my sibling relationships is the one I have with my eldest sister, Jane. My earliest memories of her are as half of a couple with my brother-in-law, Frank*. They were very active in the Marriage Encounter movement of the Catholic Church, so of course Karl and I not only did our “pre-Cana” obligation via an Engaged Encounter weekend, we also participated in a Marriage Encounter weekend within the first couple of years of our married life.
It was obvious to us that ‘the Church’ played a big role in Jane and Frank’s life wherever they lived – be in Massachusetts, Connecticut, or New Hampshire. They always seemed to find a parish where the clergy were open-minded and open-hearted, welcoming and supportive of those less fortunate. In other words, my sister always seemed to find a parish close to home that exemplified the best of Catholic teachings. We weren’t as lucky, which probably played a not insignificant role in my exploration of other spiritual paths.
Haiti
When my sister was right around the age I am now, some 18 years ago, she became active in the birth of a new ministry at the Church of St. Patrick/St. Anthony in Hartford, Connecticut. She was part of an exploratory mission to Haiti laying the groundwork for establishing a sister parish between St. Patrick/St. Anthony’s and a parish in that island nation.
My sister had never been a public speaker. She might be loquacious and unafraid to offer her opinion on a variety of topics one-on-one, but she wasn’t one to grab a microphone or hog a spotlight. So it was a huge deal when she agreed, as an adjunct to her inclusion on the trip, to speak to the parish about the results of her fact-finding mission upon her return. I remember her grousing a bit about having to agree to this responsibility, but feeling she could suck it up if she had to.
I also remember her horror when she discovered – after returning from Haiti – that contrary to her original fear, she wouldn’t have to address the congregation at just one mass. No. She would in fact be required to address the congregation at every – single – mass that weekend. Wow. That was a leap far further than she’d expected.
But what I witnessed was how her passion and commitment to the meaningful growth she believed St. Patrick/St. Anthony’s could experience and share by establishing a sisterly bond with their Haitian counterparts helped her transcend her stomach churning responsibility into a labor of love. Her dedication to that mission lasted many years and translated into several opportunities to be of service in Haiti.
Other Acts of Love
Over the years, Jane has engaged in many other acts of service through the auspices of the Franciscan Order that always seems to have been part of the progressive parishes she’s been lucky enough to be part of throughout her life. She’s engaged in LGBTQ work, assisted in working with the homeless, and knitted countless prayer shawls that have brought peace, comfort, and solace to those yearning for just that.
Meanwhile, she had a ‘little sister’ with whom she shared extremely similar spiritual attitudes, but who pursued them through the ancient ways of shamanism. That could be a big stretch to even admit. Yet she wasn’t embarrassed by me. Rather, I think she takes pleasure in how vastly different our approaches may seem to the outside world, while we nevertheless share the open secret that, ultimately, we’re cut out of the same spiritual cloth.
Celebrating – Photo: L. Weikel
Today’s Proud Moment
And so it was that today I was able to witness a proud moment when Jane was awarded the Francis Medal – a ‘symbol of and connection to Holy Name Province established in 1998. This award is given in gratitude for ways that our partners in ministry have enhanced the Franciscan vision through their participation.’ Jane’s role in establishing the sister parish relationship in Haiti featured prominently in Fr. Tom Gallagher’s expression of appreciation.
His words were all the more poignant meaningful in that today was the celebration of his final masses as Pastor and Guardian of St. Patrick/St. Anthony’s. It was clear from other parts of the mass today in tribute to him that his presence and role in the church and community will be deeply missed.
I’m lucky to have such a wonderful role model as a sister. And I find it particularly amazing and a true gift that we share such a profound spiritual connection while pursuing its expression in vastly different yet deeply meaningful ways.
I’m so proud of you, Jane, both for who you are and the work you’ve contributed – and continue to offer – to your family, the Hartford community, and the world. I’m still trying to keep up. You’re a hard act to follow.
Sisters – Photo: Delia Gallagher Hansen
*Sadly, Frank, far too young, passed away over a decade ago.
40. There’s a number that takes me by surprise. It seems like only a couple years ago, Karl and I were asking my parents if we could get married on their 40th wedding anniversary. I already knew I was going to wear my mother’s wedding dress, so wouldn’t it just be even more of a cool tribute to them – and us – if we celebrated exactly on their day?
It made perfect sense to us. The only hitch was that Mommy and Daddy’s anniversary was in October and I wouldn’t be graduating from college until the following May. Seven months away.
Turned out my father wasn’t too keen on that idea, so it didn’t happen. We waited. I graduated from college in May and we got married in June. Ah, young love.
Family
I’m the youngest of my siblings, and they were all married while I was growing up. I’d been in each of their weddings, graduating to a new level in each one: flower girl, junior bridesmaid, bridesmaid and, well, bridesmaid again. (I never was anyone’s maid of honor – although I was my maid of honor’s matron of honor three months after my own wedding. I’d say that counted double.)
I’d grown up adoring my siblings – and their partners – and I could not imagine having to choose one over the other. I loved my sisters and brother so much that I wanted all of them to be in my wedding as I’d been in theirs. And I wanted Karl’s sisters to be included as well.
But I also had my non-blood family. My friends. My maid of honor and I had been friends since we were about 8 years old. The others had become dear to me in college. I didn’t want to pick from among them, either – but I nevertheless had to pick and choose (to make it an even number) and ultimately had to leave a few out. That never sat right, but I had to do it, and we remained close anyway. Another plank in our foundation.
My point here is that a quick look at our wedding party and anyone can see why our marriage has lasted as long as it did.
We started out with an amazing foundation of love and support. Love from blood and love from heart. They’ve all played a part in holding us together through the toughest of tough times and the most joyful of others.
Family – Friends – Each Other
What could be better than marrying my best friend and creating a family with him over the past 40 years?
On the day pictured above, I now had both friend and family all rolled up into one endearing, frustrating, soulful, thoughtful, loving, maddening, charming, funny (OK, nope; that’s a bridge too far) person. Did I mention gorgeous? Yeah, that too.
Carol’s Chocolate BIRTHDAY cake – Photo: L. Weikel
The Baker’s Birthday
By the time I hit the ‘publish’ button on this post, it’ll be December 10th, which means it’ll be the birthday of the namesake of one of our family’s two favorite birthday cakes: Carol’s Chocolate Cake.
Sadly, since my sister lives in Massachusetts and I live in Pennsylvania, she won’t be receiving one of her chocolate cakes from me for her birthday. I know; bad little sister. But who knows? Maybe someone else will bake her one. In fact, I don’t even know if ‘Carol’s Chocolate Cake’ is considered ‘the’ birthday cake in her household.
I’m only realizing now that I should’ve baked one a few days ago and sent it to her. After all, I’ve gotten a lot of blog mileage out of her yummy delicious confection. I owe her one!
Photos Few and Far Between
Sadly, we rarely see each other. The last time I think we had our photo taken together was at Karl’s Gathering – so, eight years ago. I’ll see if I can hunt down that photo. I believe it has the rest of my siblings in it, so I probably shouldn’t post it. Some members of my family probably don’t want to be associated with me anymore.
Why?
Perhaps because I’m an unabashed feminist and liberal, and so do not apparently share the same sensibilities as some of my siblings. (And I’m undoubtedly thought of as an opinionated big mouth, too. Ha ha – not all that inaccurate, I suppose.)
Oooh, that’s so dangerous. Talking about stuff like this publicly.
Don’t worry you guys, I won’t publish your photos or mention your names. The fact that I even write that is silly. On the best day, I’m sure only two siblings, at most, read what I write. Ever.
Maintaining the Façade
It’s funny, isn’t it? The lengths we go to to maintain a façade that hasn’t been accurate in years (if it ever was). I know I always felt our family was indivisible, bonded by a love that could never be broken. Then…stuff happened.
Probably the biggest thing, I guess, was the death of our father nearly 20 years ago. And no, it had nothing to do with what people might assume when they read that sentence. It had nothing to do with money or inheritance or anything like that. It was actually, simply, the breaking of the last thread.
Our mother’s death 30 years ago was a huge loss. She truly was the linchpin of our family. But losing her didn’t tear us apart. And our father’s death didn’t either, per se. Rather, his death merely led to us all focusing upon our own nuclear families and losing our central shared focus, the hub of our familial attention, which had been our parents.
Things happened in our country, too, which exacerbated differing viewpoints that apparently had lain undetected beneath the surface. At least I was blindsided by how different we could think about life, having been raised by the same people.
Death of an Illusion
When I was a kid, being the youngest (by a lot, the closest in age being nine years older than I am) was an idyllic spot to occupy. I adored my siblings. (I still do; I’ve just learned to employ some detachment, which helps.)
I also had what I always considered the best of all possible worlds. I was the youngest of five, so I had these amazing older siblings to learn from and look forward to having visit, and just overall have as role models in my life. But in many ways I also enjoyed the benefits of being an ‘only’ child, since I was only nine when the closest sibling left for college.
Christmas time was the best, when everyone would come to our house from states far and wide, bringing with them their children – my nieces and nephews – the first three of whom were closer in age to me than my closest sibling! I finally had kids to play with! And I was ‘the oldest,’ for once. (And yes, I hang my head in shame; I did lord it over them occasionally. We won’t go there.) But having so many nieces and nephews contributed to that pervasive feeling that I truly had the best of all worlds.
I would never have imagined us all going our separate ways so starkly, so unequivocally, and, dare I say it, so harshly.
But there it is.
Happy Birthday
I probably shouldn’t hit ‘publish’ on this. I’m sure it holds little appeal to you, the readers I appreciate so very much, and probably lacks any intrinsic value, either. But you know what? Every once in a while I deeply, deeply miss what I thought we had.
I remember each and every one of my siblings’ birthdays. So of course I will be thinking about Carol tomorrow (now today).
And I guess my point in writing any of this is to remind all of us – you who are reading it, and myself who is writing it – to cherish what we have. Because you can’t count on it lasting ‘forever.’ No matter how tight you think you are with any group of people, blood or not. Things happen. People change. And what you thought would last forever can be gone like the puff of a birthday candle.
The love I have when I recall looking up to my sisters and brother will never end. Just the expression of it, I guess.
Karl and I just safely arrived home from Massachusetts a short while ago.
Knowing I needed to write my post for the day, I logged onto my laptop. (My MacBook Air, for those of you who might be wondering. I will deal with Dell tomorrow.)
I clicked on Face Book almost without thinking, and the very first post that showed up on my feed was something from a dear friend from high school.
Her Use of the Past Tense Said It All
As soon as I started reading it, I noticed her use of past tense when referring to her brother, giving me a terrible, hollow feeling in my heart.
I didn’t know Mike – not really. He was a presence, but I was not; so he didn’t bother with me – as is not uncommon with older brothers in general, especially when they’re somewhat close in age, but just out of range, so to speak. But I knew ‘of’ him, and over the course of the recent years of FB, I’d gotten a taste of his sense of humor and loveable-bearness.
But Ann’s use of the past tense, and her description of the past two weeks – yes, only TWO WEEKS – before losing him this morning to an apparently lightning-swift or long undiagnosed cancer is stunning and heartbreaking.
And so I am once again left wanting to comfort, to console, to make sense of how devastatingly quickly any of our lives can change through loss or end.
I am glad for him that he did not linger or suffer. And I am beyond sad for the grief and loss of my dear friend Ann and her sister Jane.
