The Sweet Taste of a Hallmark Holiday

What the heck! I grumbled one recent morning when a Pop-up notification for “National Siblings Day” appeared on my laptop’s screen. Is that even a thing? Brushing away bits of a Double-Stuf Oreo that had missed its target and landed instead on my keyboard, I logged onto Google and did a quick search: there, I discovered April 10th listed as “the day that recognizes the importance of sibling relationships.” Reading further, I learned that in 1998, a Presidential proclamation, with Gubernatorial support in forty-nine states, had declared Siblings Day an unofficial holiday for honoring these familial bonds. Ah, another Hallmark-created event! the cynic in me crabbed as I plucked another of my all-time favorite cookies from the tray.

Still, I was puzzled. How was it possible that I had remained clueless for so long about this high-level pronouncement––a declaration that was reaffirmed by two subsequent commanders in chief? Shouldn’t it have registered for me at some point since 1998, particularly because it nearly overlapped with the day one of my siblings had passed?
 
So I went back to probe my own memory bank: Had I detected any ceramic mugs sporting a “Best Bro” or “Best Sis Ever!” message stacked high under an NSD banner at our local Target? Nope. Or spied a rack of greeting cards emblazoned with ‘Sib Day’ missives about celebrating the kid with whom a childhood bedroom was once shared? Nope squared. As a big-box store “schlepper” who surely would have noticed such promotional hoopla had it been displayed, I determined that I had missed nothing, as there was nothing to miss.
 
What’s more, as one of eight siblings––seven still present in this world––I could recall no instance when an April phone call designed to commemorate this supposedly nationwide “special” day had lit up my phone. Deciding then that this was indeed a sham occasion that had never gained purchase as had October’s “Sweetest Day,” I tried to shift my attention back to the email I’d been crafting to a dear friend. 
 
Rather than being able to focus, however, my thoughts instead zeroed in on the characteristics that described the connections within my sibling collective. The relationships we had had with one another over the years ranged from “close” to “estranged,” and not since our Dad’s funeral more than a decade ago had we all congregated in the same room. Sadly, our shared grief over losing the father we’d cherished and admired did not hold us together as a family, even though his death came only months after our mother’s. In fact, both losses had only widened the rifts that already existed between several members of our tribe.

What were the chances, I wondered, that the old “hurts” ––those sibling rivalries that all too often plague many families––might one day be forgiven and so make healing possible? After all, I thought wistfully, we were no longer young. How I wished we could move past our quarrels and disputes. 
 
I would have preferred to believe that it was this zeal for reconciliation that drove me to take my next step: acting as if I hadn’t just groused about the cheesiness of commercialized holidays, I impulsively decided to forward a slightly “tweaked” version of the Pop-up reminder: “Just learned that National Siblings Day is coming up,” teased the message sent to one and all. 
 
With a little anxiety, I listened for the “woosh” that indicated my text had been sent, but it was only after putting down my cell phone that I began to wonder exactly what kind of response I hoped to receive. After all, I was still a “middle” child”—one who grew up sandwiched between “firstborns” and “cabooses.” Being assigned such a role meant I was always something of a peacemaker, and this afforded me a position of importance: a way to be heard and thus seen. Yet, I’d also been the schemer who sometimes liked to gain attention by means that were mischievous. How certain was I, really, that my motivation for shooting this text to them all hadn’t been simply to whip up a new round of dust within our already splintered clan? 
 
It was another “What the heck?” moment. Except that this time around I wasn’t reacting to a prompt in a web browser; instead, the half-formed question addressed how I suddenly felt. Foolish. And this emotion was quickly accompanied by yet another familiar sensation: I remembered how, as a twelve-year-old, I’d always thought of myself as a “loser” after I’d been stirring up trouble. I was wrestling with all of this when, a short while later, my phone began to ping:
 
“Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the day we lost Jeanie,” the first message read. “I can’t believe she’s been gone twenty-five years.”
 
“Maybe we could all meet somewhere exotic to honor her?” Patty replied, the sister who loved to travel but no longer went anywhere. “I vote for Tuscany.” 
 
“Let’s get real. I vote for it to be here,” Flo commented about Patty’s over-the-top suggestion as a new flurry of text boxes rolled onto my screen.
 
“Jeanie—the birthday card Queen!” said Pat. “I remember once I whacked her with Mom’s broom. Boy, did she scratch me back with those long nails of hers! But even though we fought as teens, she was still my best friend.”
 
“That’s what sibs do. Fight!”  Flo again, the sister famous for digging in her heels when challenged.
 
“No. Just squabble a little…” chimed in Mike. 
 
I laughed then. Squabble? Is Mikey describing ‘The Waltons?’” 
 
And then came yet another text, this one from Paul, who, since our Dad’s passing, had kept a careful distance. “Might be nice if we sent Jeanie’s kids bouquets in remembrance.” 
 
Perfect, I typed, as I weighed in on the conversation for the first time.

Although I suspected that we all kept in touch somewhat with “the kids,” it struck me that this thoughtful, and unexpected gesture to Jeanie’s children would provide a unique opportunity for all of us to reach out as a united front to our Gen X, west coast kin. Quickly, I volunteered to spearhead a campaign to send flowers to each niece and nephew, delivered by the very next day—even as I dismissed the voice in my mind that whispered, There you go again, trying to control everything! And the rest of the replies came fast: “Sounds great!” “Check is in the mail!” and then, even a thumbs-up emoji.
 
Later that evening, long after I’d scrolled through the chain of what wound up being some sixty-odd texts from the family and after I’d made arrangements for overnight deliveries via FTD, I took a saunter through our neighborhood’s attempts at an early spring. I drew in a deep breath. The day’s highlight had been the kind of bounce-around, topic-shifting exchange that satisfied my soul. Something worthy of a true siblings day celebration. No one had objected to the way I’d lured us all into the same––if virtual––gathering space. No one had even given me a diss for “doing a Terry.” 
 
Instead, there had been the wisecracking comments I remembered so well from childhood; instead, there were the shares about health issues, and the updates on everyone’s children; instead, there had been the shocking and sad news of the death of an extended member in our clan that same morning. It had all brought us together once again, as we exchanged favorite memories about this gentle soul we’d known and respected nearly all of our lives. We seemed to be reaching out toward one another with these opportunities to reflect and reminisce. All of it resonated for me: how fortunate we were to be talking together at last. My emotions now were ones of gratitude and pleasure. If I’d been ten, I would have been skipping down the sidewalk. 
 
Five of us had actively participated in our group thread, with some interjecting more than others; how much progress had been made with the willingness of most to participate in our text exchange. It was an experience that had only strengthened my craving and resolve for more. Hoping that this small flame that had been kindled could be blown into something larger and more reliable, I vowed to seek other opportunities that would spark another family “reunion,” those that might strike a still stronger response, even if only by text.

As I rounded the last corner toward home, the “what were the chances of healing” refrain I’d had back when I first found the mention of “Siblings Day” echoed in my mind once again. The truth, of course, was that I didn’t know, but gratitude and happiness had tempered my worry. It is this optimism that fuels my hope that compassion and grace may help us, as brothers and sisters, to find our way back to one another in a sturdier way, one that might be even deeper and more sustainable. And the irony that it was this Hallmark Holiday that prompted me to bring my brothers and sisters together? It’s not lost on me. It’s a day that I plan to mark on my calendar and celebrate with kibbitzing and some Double-Stufs, courtesy of Nabisco.