I don't have sisters. I feel the lack, at times; I think women more naturally tend to end up as caregivers to their elderly parents, and having a sister to share that load with would be nice.
I have, however, been blessed with brothers.
People who grew up with you in your house understand certain things better than anybody ever will: The code words for joy and sadness that are bound tightly in specific memories of childhood. You can discuss such things as 'toon toenails, turkey-gobble sneezes and CaliPhoneYa and they immediately know the subject, the context, the subtext and how it relates to the point you are trying to make, all in less than three seconds. It makes telling the funny story of my last trip for a pedicure take about five minutes less to tell.
However often I might not see eye-to-eye with them, I know that there is over 50 years of history there. I know that our time with out parents is winding down. Knowing that there are other people out there who've known me has long as they have is comforting.
My younger brother recently visited one of those how-long-are-you-going-to-live websites, and it told him he has 46 more years. His response? "F*** that! I don't need that kind of time! Give some of that to Babygirl!"
How can I not be grateful?