First Born

My sister is three years older than me. She was the long anticipated, and much adored first child. My parents desperately wanted children, if only because it was what you were "supposed" to do. My mother’s basement is still full of photo collages and framed images marking every milestone. Though they had a modest income, the Sears Picture Studio was always an option to document Anne’s growth. They still talk about the activities they did, the walks to the park and library, the way Anne learned to read long before Kindergarten, and sending her to school early because she was ready a year early. They talk of all of her achievements and accomplishments, of the better days that were before siblings were born.

My mother was pregnant once before she carried my sister. Mom could barely contain herself when she called her own sister - my Aunt Judy - to share the news. She called with excitement and joy even knowing that my Aunt's own marriage was falling apart because she wasn't able to conceive. My Aunt, married years earlier but who never had such exciting news to share, was so hurt and angry she hung up the phone without saying anything.

My mom miscarried shortly after the phone call. My Aunt, being the guilt-ridden Catholic that she is, felt personally responsible. I can only imagine how many candles she lit in church, how many prayers were said for the child that was lost that she felt personally responsible for.

But, perhaps in answer to Aunt Judy’s prayers, or perhaps in spite of, my mother quickly found herself pregnant again. My sister was born in January 1980. There were no epidurals in 1980. It’s been reported that my mother called my dad every name in the book as she screamed through her labor.

In a time before detailed health screenings, parents had to carry two sets of infant clothes to the hospital, unaware as to whether they were bringing home a boy or a girl. They must have spent hours considering girl names. The name for a boy was already and long ago settled. They were to continue a long running tradition on my father's side. When my brother arrived, much to the relief of my father, he was given the name and the burden of carrying on the tradition himself.

After Anne arrived my Aunt was named her Godmother. Though Aunt Judy is a good and devout Catholic, my parents were far more relaxed about their faith. It was a tradition that they felt important, even though they didn’t regularly attend church at the time. A reason to celebrate the birth publicly; a reason to have a party. And though Aunt Judy didn’t particularly care to lead Anne’s faith, she was very serious in her role to care for the child as though she was her own. In many ways, she was the child that was prayed for, dreamt about, and loved by both sisters.

Throughout our childhood Anne would receive two cards or presents from Aunt Judy at every holiday - one for "my niece" and one for "my goddaughter". She did this boldly, proudly, and with no shame. Aunt Judy always favored Anne, even long after my brother and I were born. We were ignored, sometimes abused, and could never compare to the blessed first born child. The child that she felt was her own - at least for the fun parts, if not the responsibility.

Her marriage did eventually end, which only allowed for more opportunities for her to travel the hour distance from her home to ours to spend time with Anne. Only allowed for more opportunities for her to pick Anne up for special overnight visits at her house. I remember my sister coming home with painted nails and stickers, new art supplies and books. Watching her receive all of the things we both coveted, but that she would never share. Remember feeling excluded and never able to compare to the favorite child. How could I possibly compare?

When my parents own marriage dissolved, Aunt Judy used what limited resources she had to squirrel away money for Anne's future. When Anne graduated high school and prepared to go on to college - something that Aunt Judy or mom were never able to do - Aunt Judy handed her a check to help her along her way. "I started saving when I heard about your dad's abuse," she told me. "I needed to help Anne," she said. But just Anne. My brother and I never received anything more from Aunt Judy than a card, which Aunt Judy felt was an obligation of being a blood relative. The saccharine greeting printed inside standing alone - nothing more written than her name, in perfect cursive script.

As my sister grew she turned to Aunt Judy and mom equally for help, advice, celebrations, and support. And they supported her equally, sharing the child as they always had. They attended her school events, bought her the desired makeup and clothing that were always just out of reach of the usual budget. When it was revealed that Anne had started smoking, they even began to buy her cartons of cigarettes so that she wouldn’t have to spend her own money on the habit that they, themselves had introduced her to.

When Anne’s marriage fell apart - not because of an abusive husband, like mom and Judy had faced, but because of her own selfishness and greed - they were always the first to defend Anne. Defend her decision to cheat on and leave her husband. Defend the decision to quit her job to play house with her new boyfriend who supported her entirely. Defend the decision to walk away from custody of her own child because it was easier than doing the work necessary to keep her. They defend her, and support her, but never ask anything of her.

They carefully crafted a dynamic that allowed Anne to do nothing to receive love and adoration, support and nurturing. To always have someone to call to enable and approve of her decisions, no matter how destructive or poorly thought out they were. And which created in me a desire so strong to be noticed, to receive attention, to be seen and heard and appreciated, and to experience true unconditional love.

After years of overt and subtle abuses, I walked away from trying to seek out their attention and love. I don’t talk to Anne, Aunt Judy, or my mother anymore. I haven’t been in touch for years. It wasn’t surprising that they never sought me out; that they never bothered to connect out of concern or curiosity. I just disappeared from their lives. They felt no obligation let alone desire to include me in their strange circle, and where likely relieved when I stopped trying. I was the one always trying to break into their group. Trying to belong in the strange connection between the three, bonded together in a way at the same time beautiful and unnatural.

I mourn what could have been. The sisterly bond that I could have had, but is now lost - sacrificed to a different set of sisters.