How I Met My Sister

Most people do it in the hospital. Some have done it on Oprah or Dr. Phil. I did it at Harrah's Casino.

Let me back up.

When people ask the rather common getting-to-know-you question "so, do you have any siblings?" I give them the short answer. "No. I'm an only child." (Statistically, only children are rare--at least in the Western world, though this is changing--and in addition to being the short answer, it also makes me feel a little unique, which is nice.) If the conversation progresses, or if I get to know that person better, I give them the long answer. "Well, I was raised an only child, but I actually have four half siblings...whom I've never met." This generally prompts conversation, as one might expect, so I tend to shy away from going there because it makes my family life sound like a pretty solid episode of Jerry Springer. It doesn't bother me--I'm not embarrassed by any of this; I don't have to defend anyone--but most people, at least in casual conversation, want the short version. I get it. But, to be fair, the long version is pretty interesting. I mean, most people, even with divorced parents, have at least met their siblings--step, half, whatever. Here's the quick version of the long story:

1. Biological Dad marries Wife One, has two kids. They divorce when the kids are small.
2. Biological Dad marries Wife Two, has me. He leaves when I'm an infant, and Mom moves back to her hometown, which is way the hell across the country from where they lived/I was born.
3. Biological Dad marries Wife Three, has two kids. They are together until his untimely death as a result of an accident in April, 2008.

I know that maybe it makes Biological Dad look like a commitment-phobic, serial husband or something equally as awful. (Culturally speaking anyway, since the preference is to Marry Once for Life, even though the statistics indicate this is clearly not The Norm; multiple divorces is still frowned upon, though it does make you perfectly eligible to run for president on the GOP ticket with a strong "family values" ideology.) Regardless of how it makes him look--and without getting into everything, it's all water under the bridge; no one harbors ill will--the result is the same. I have four half siblings.

I always knew about them, so this isn't some big Lifetime Television event. I had seen pictures of the older two as kids--my mom was their step-mom for a while, remember--though we'd never had contact since I lived so far away and had no relationship with Biological Dad. Because of things like child support, Mom knew about Biological Dad's new marriage and family, though again, the details were pretty vague: names, rough ages, etc. In college, I got it in my mind to try to find my older brother--as the only boy, he was the one whose name couldn't have changed--to no avail. I gave up, though Mom always encouraged me to seek them out somehow.

Fast forward to 2009. I join Faceook. Lo and behold, there they are. All four of them.

Through Facebook messaging, the one sister--the youngest of all five of us--and I start to sort of have a relationship. Her husband is a flight attendant for a popular airline (read: they fly a lot because it's free), and his family is from Philly, so we had a couple of chances to meet up that didn't work out for one reason or another. They offered to fly me and ExH to Vegas for their daughter's baby naming ceremony; we had a wedding in Vermont that weekend. They were going to come to Philly for Passover; she got sick. They were going to stop in Columbus on their way home from Philly last year; it fell through. When I found out last December I had gotten accepted to a conference in Vegas, the first (ok, second) thing I did was text her even though we'd been out of touch for quite a while. They graciously gave me a plane ticket, and we chose a time during my stay when we'd both be free to meet.

Needless to say, as the time got closer, I was pretty nervous. Was it going to be awkward? What if we hated each other? Or had nothing to talk about? What if hearing about growing up with Biological Dad made me upset? What if talking about him made her upset, since he has passed away? Was it going to be this big, emotional, tear-inducing moment? (I put on mascara and instantly regretted it, though it ended up not to be a problem.) As she and I were texting back and forth on that day, I had major butterflies and had to call a friend to talk me through it. I normally have no problem meeting people--Dates? Easy. New classmates? Fine.--but this was totally different. I was ready about 20 minutes early, and spent my time pacing back and forth in the lobby of Harrah's.

Finally, Sister arrived with her husband and daughter in tow, and there was hugging all around. (We easily recognized each other from pictures, so we didn't have that awkward Blind Date moment of "is that you?" to deal with. Also, see above: I was the one pacing in the lobby. This probably clued her in.) We quickly decided to go across the street to get lunch in the mall, making some small talk about the wackiness of Vegas and their upcoming move (back) to Santa Fe on the way. Her husband was really good about being the Parent In Charge so that Sister and I could talk without being interrupted by their (super cute) toddler. Once we navigated walking through the casino and crossing the street, we were able to talk about more important things, like, you know, family, genealogy, Biological Dad, the fact that we were each currently meeting a sibling, and how the other siblings might feel about this. (She, obviously, grew up with her full sister, but has also spent significant time with the first two.) We joked that we'd make great fodder for reality television and looked around for a film crew in jest. We sat down at a table after a short wait (perfect for a photo op) and continued to "catch up"--that phrase seems inadequate--in between ordering, eating, and moving everything away from grabby toddler hands.

It was a mix of both of us asking questions and taking turns volunteering information. I learned some fascinating--often scandalous--family history, as well as some of the more mundane aspects of Biological Dad's personality that, obviously, I didn't already know. (Previously, I could name a couple of facts about him and that's it.) We touched on the potentially sensitive topics with grace, both of us likely over-compensating with regard to the other's feelings. We tried to figure out weird things we had in common, having the "nature versus nurture" debate alongside each new revelation. I knew we were related when we were talking political commentary and she said "seriously, if I were a lesbian, my first choice would be Rachel Maddow." (Some idiotic study did find that politics were partially genetic, after all.)

As the afternoon wrapped up, we tried to figure out whether we'd have more time before I went home, talked about how nice it was (though weird) to have finally met, and encouraged the other to keep in (better) touch. Seeing each other a few days later was a possibility, though it never came to fruition. I hugged her and her husband goodbye, gave their daughter (my niece!) a squeeze, and watched as they walked away through the smoke of the casino toward their car. It had finally happened. I had met my sister.

Given the time difference, I was able to call my mom and relay the events of the afternoon almost immediately. I told her all about the rather juicy family goings-on; each juicy tidbit was met with a "no kidding!" on the other end of the phone, especially those concerning my genetic makeup. (These parts are particularly interesting.) Some of the information I passed along were facts that differed from her personal experience having been married to Biological Dad, or things she had forgotten about, or things she probably should have known and didn't. Regardless, she was completely intrigued about the experience and so, so happy for me. You know, how Moms get. Then she probably told me to be safe in Vegas. You know, how Moms get.

I tend to be guilty of Setting My Expectations Too High, so, like many other Big Things I've experienced in life, this felt a little anti-climactic, though I fully understand the significance of the event. As I said above, the mascara didn't turn into a streaky mess on my face because there was no crying. I'm not sure what I was looking for--the skies to open and chorus of angels to sing, perhaps?--because this is something almost no one else I know has gone through. It's one thing to reunite with an old friend or family member, even one you haven't seen in over two decades, but it's quite another to meet a sibling. I mean, by definition, you cannot meet a friend you've never met. When I learned that Biological Dad had passed away, I wept in a brief storm of convulsing sobs--poor ExH had no idea what to do in this moment--but I was mourning the chances that could never be; I was grieving a ghost more than the loss of an human being. Did I think that meeting Sister would be the emotional mirror of that? Were we supposed to run at each other, embrace and cry happy tears at our new found sisterly bond? I'd be lying if I didn't admit to hoping for a little of that despite the unrealistic nature of the scenario. No matter the outcome, however, it was something I had wanted to do for years, and I get to live in a world where a little wish came true.

There is a cloying phrase often found on decorative knickknacks and needlepoint pillows sold in kitschy general stores and catalogs for sorority girls: "Chance made us sisters; hearts made us friends."

I need a bigger pillow.