Carolyn, sisterhood and love

It’s been 17 years since she transitioned and the lesson of love that my sister-in-law left me is especially profound today, the anniversary of her transition. Carolyn and I shared a special relationship that afforded each of us the chance to love, err as humans, learn from our missteps, forgive and move on. 

I loved her deeply, in a way that was therapeutic, nurturing and taught me more, in retrospect, than any other relationship has. With Carolyn, an unseen force seemed to guide me. Despite my shyness, I was more open with her, more vulnerable, more willing to speak my truth and obsessed with expressing gratitude.

I remember that one of our many deep talks caught her off guard because she thought that I wanted to discuss something “serious;” when what I wanted to do, needed to do actually, was apologize for not having thanked her properly for one of her many acts of spontaneous generosity.

“So you wanted to talk to me,” she asked slowly, “to thank me,” her tone full of skepticism mixed with pleasant surprise. Another deep talk happened when she pulled me aside to warn me about the “out of character” cynicism creeping into my demeanor. 

Hindsight shows me clearly that the space in which we had each one of these special conversations was so sacred; full of a not-of-this-world love that neither of us could articulate at the time. 

I sensed the same in a recent post by one of Sharonda Singleton’s close friends that spoke of the four women’s competition to “out love” each other. Her words resonated deeply; touched that space in my heart where my earthly relationship with Carolyn once existed. The post oozed a sacred, not-of-this-world love interspersed with profound grief at losing their dear friend to Dylann Roof's despicable terrorism. Theirs was a consecrated, unbounded sisterhood.

  

Although we did not label it; did not know to, truthfully, Carolyn and I engaged in a similar competition.

The journey to her diagnosis with lupus was scary for Carolyn. The unpredictable symptoms brought many hospital stays. One visit included a phone call from her that woke me at about 2:30 a.m. Calls at that hour almost always mean death or some other family emergency. Thankfully, the ringing phone awoke only me and strangely, did not produce the feeling of dread in my belly that similar calls had in the past.

Carolyn reminded me that I’d told her to call me anytime. I was thankful that she listened. She told me that she was afraid and frustrated at the doctors’ inability to determine what ailed her. That she was tired of being poked and prodded. The call did not last long and I did more listening than talking. I don’t remember what I said and whether it, or her ability to vent, made her feel better, but something did because before hanging up, she told me so. 

I remember crying after we hung up; so glad that she called when she did, in the middle of the night while feeling the fear and frustration; and not later, at a more "decent" hour when she could only tell me how she'd felt, past tense.

Our relationship had its ups and downs, yet, to be honest, I cannot recall the reasons for the downs. The ups included being in each other's weddings, being pregnant at the same time and dressing our toddler daughters alike, sometimes intentionally and frequently not. Sending her a bouquet of yellow tulips on her first day of work for a job that she didn’t expect to get. Laughing as she described the dread she felt at being called to the office on her first day, only to discover her floral delivery.

Dancing up a storm at Stardom and Strawberry’s. Chilling together at the pool, fruity, umbrella adorned drinks in hand during the Omega retreats in Marco Island.

Random greeting cards sent just because I thought she might need a boost and her confirming that they’d arrived at just the right time. 

Hearing her squeal when I asked her to be my second daughter’s godmother; and wondering if she had ESP each time she arrived at my house unexpectedly, diapers in tow just as I was about to run out.

One of the ups that we’d shared happened during one of our downs, when, out of the blue, Carolyn said, “Michelle, I know that you love me.” I don’t recall what happened that prompted her declaration. I don’t know whether she sensed that her death was near. I don’t know what made her say it, but I’m so glad that she did. 

Because it was true.