(Originally appeared in Sense and Psychotherapy, Fall 2001)
On long rainy afternoons when I was a kid, my siblings and I would often grab our decks of cards and sit down together at our big round kitchen table and play some mean games of group solitaire. Sometimes we’d have as many as 7 people crowded around the table, all attempting to get the most cards on the piles in the center. Of course the older ones were always faster, and we younger ones would get frustrated, making us that much more competitive on the next round. We were determined to be as fast as the older ones someday. On a recent trip back east to visit the family, I was delighted to see the cards being pulled out again as we sat down at my brother’s table to play several fast, furious games of cutthroat solitaire. The cards were flying and we roared at the thought of explaining to an emergency room doctor how we broke a finger playing solitaire.
Even though it was the first time in over 10 years that our entire sibling set was all together, I smiled at how we so easily slipped right back into all our old roles. We teased each other about things that happened 35 years ago, bringing the past into the present, reaffirming our multilayered connections.
When my son groaned and grimaced as we posed for the umpteenth time in all the various permutations of family portraits, it was impossible for me to explain that he’d look at these pictures decades from now and remember that memorable summer week in steamy North Carolina.
Now, as I look over the pictures at our smiling faces, I get a pang of sadness that my little boy will grow up without a pack of brothers and sisters to immerse himself in. Thirty years from now he won’t be able to chide a sister about dragging him across the cement driveway for being in her place, or reminisce about the secrets they kept from their parents. Of course, he won’t ever have to worry about being dragged across the driveway in the first place, and he’ll be able to continue to be the slowest eater in town because he won’t have to eat fast enough to get seconds.
We drew stares our last morning together as we stood outside the IHOP. The laughter and tears mingled as we hugged our good-byes, not wanting to let go, the separation made even more painful by not knowing when we’d all be together again.
I take solace in the knowledge that whenever and wherever I do get to be with my siblings again, little will be changed, other than we’ll all be even older. We’ll still joke and tease each other, someone will rip open a bag of chips, and we’ll grab our cards for another fast-paced, boisterous game of solitaire.
