My Sister’s Sisters
Two families separated by divorce reunite at a funeral
My sister, Alison, was biologically my half-sibling, but I never described her that way. Our mom and her dad divorced when she was a baby, and our parents married when she was two. She grew up calling my dad, ‘Dad,’ and that’s why I use the term ‘our parents’ throughout this essay. Aside from genetics, I was never any closer to my full brother than to my half-sister.
In a typical ’80s custody agreement, Ali would see her father every other weekend and alternating holidays, though this arrangement faded away once she became a teen. When the visits stopped, I found myself going long stretches of time without having her family cross my mind.
Alison was intensely private and gave our mom the shortest possible answers to any questions related to her paternal relatives, but occasionally she would mention to me that she went out to dinner with one of her sisters, or that she joined her dad and her stepmom for the Westminster Dog Show (one of their annual traditions).
When we were young, I was intensely jealous that Alison had two families and I would beg her to bring me on her weekend visits. She would get two sets of holiday gifts and I daydreamed about how fun it would be to have more sisters. Alison and I fought relentlessly as children. She was…
