a touching story of 3 sisters...

My husband and I had a deal: when we had kids, he named the boys, and I named the girls.
He missed his chance the first time when Jonathan turned out to be Jill. He missed it the second time when Adam morphed into Amy. And by the third time, the bargain we struck had changed: he had naming rights no matter what. So we had ourselves another daughter, our beloved Nancy. I never told my husband that once we had two daughters, I was secretly hoping for a third. It seemed seditious to have such thoughts, but I did. I knew that daughters also meant . . . sisters. And I knew that sisters could be a bond like no other for these baby girls who came in such a rush that I found myself happily crazed with three under the age of five. As little time as I had to reflect, given the mountains of diapers and the inevitable sleepless nights, this I knew: I wanted these daughters of ours to be close. And that overused word "close" still had resonance for me because I had a sister and, yes, we were . . . close. If you asked our daughters, now adult women, what refrain they heard through the cries of "She hit me first!" and "I HATE her!" they would smile and offer their mother’s mantra: "Be good to your sisters. They’ll always be there for you." Yes, in the midst of domestic wars and skirmishes, the travails of toddlerhood and the angst of adolescence, I was mommy-one-note on the issue of sisterhood. There were months, then years, when that simple goal of Love Thy Sister seemed doomed. Personality/temperamental differences? But, of course. There were also times when one or the other of our daughters was going through some crisis or pain so private that no one could reach her. Not even a sister. But as Jill, Amy and Nancy finally all got past that age of "Who am I?" with its deforming doubts and rages, they reclaimed one another for keeps. In our rambling old house where each daughter had a bedroom of her own, I’d sometimes find them late at night in a jumbled heap. They had fallen asleep together, arms and legs twisted and tangled, like a litter of puppies. How I loved that sight! When Jill went off to college, it wasn’t just her father and I who descended into a period of mourning at this ending of "the way we were." Her sisters couldn’t even step into her room at first. The ghosts of Jill resided in those pale green walls in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Soon enough, of course, they found their way into her closets and her leftover clothes. But nothing was really ever the same. Our trio was now a duet, and the family dynamic was forever altered. But I needn’t have worried. Our daughters had actually heard that mother mantra. In their young adult lives, when there was pleasure - or peril - it was shared by our three daughters. Amy’s career dilemmas, Nancy’s romance issues, Jill’s concerns about graduate school - all became fodder for sisterly love and help. As they took flight, literally and figuratively, our daughters somehow managed to speak to one another across continents and time zones and distant area codes. They spent one summer in their college years living together in a cramped urban apartment without killing one another. In fact, they each maintained that it was the best summer of that era. But nothing could ever match how these sisters closed ranks when Jill, the oldest and generally the guide/coach/mentor, found her marriage falling apart. Her sisters surrounded her like a loving honor guard. They got her through the roughest times, helped her regain her footing in a temporarily capsized life, and generally proved that sisterhood is indeed powerful. Our daughters are all mothers now themselves, and fine ones at that. Only Amy has produced sisters - tiny Emily and Carly, separated by barely seventeen months. So I’m observing new phenomena: brotherly love in the case of Nancy’s three sons, and sibling love in Jill’s Hannah and Isaiah. And it’s wonderful. But I’m eternally grateful that I’ve been witness to just how special and spectacular sisters can be in any generation. When the chips are down - or up - my daughters seem to have taken my advice about being good and caring sisters to one another. It’s enough to make a mother believe in sweet miracles.