An old woman sits on a bench, placed against a south facing wall, enjoying the sun as it melts aches and pains away. Lost in the bright warmth on her face, she begins to dream in reverse. Riding the rays of the sun, she finds herself transported to that special place, sitting on flag-stone, beneath the blooming bows of the old Lilacs at Grandma’s house. Such a sky on this day in early May; a vast dome of the bluest blue that only a child’s eyes can see! The scent of Lilac permeates everything, with the bushes themselves joining overhead in an embrace that provides protection for two little girls, immersed in imaginative play. With tulips and other spring flowers turned upside down to become dolls dressed in ball gowns; these happy girls dance the day away. Light gleams on the hair of the cotton-top girl’s curly hair, as if in competition with the sun. The older girl is darker and even this bright day only manages to pull a few golden highlights from the ashen, darker waves beneath. Sisters in deep contrast to one another but locked together by blood, trust, and love.
Lost in the dream of her memory, in the past as important as now, the old woman sighs as from this point in time, she starts to dream forward. She begins to roll away from this heavenly moment, this snippet of blissful harmony, down her road of life. So many rough spots, navigational mistakes, mud-holes, missed stop signs, and confusing intersections. Somewhere on the way, harmony was lost and the contrast became glaring. Blood wasn’t enough to hold these sisters together. Trust was broken. Love does remain but only, as a reminder of the relationship that once existed; but now, is a relationship severed in a fierce misunderstanding. Pride over-rode the bond of blood and to this day, frustrates love.
A dark, wet cloud passes overhead, blocking the sun. At the same moment, the old woman’s heart sinks with grief and her eyes flood with tears of loss; if only, they could go back to that happy day and find a way to blend the contrast of their personas. Though one child was assigned to be golden, and the other to be twilight, in that happy moment, the contrast worked as compliment. Was it jealousy that loomed and turned sisters to adversaries? Or was it as it seems to this old woman; that the golden child wanted to rule over the child made of twilight and when twilight came into her own, the one who shines even in competition with sun, couldn’t abide it. She knows deep down that neither of them can help the role they were assigned. For each there is no choice but to play it out. In heart, the old woman embraces her little sister, that cotton-topped little girl, and lovingly, forgives her(again) . Then more tears flood in realization that her forgiveness isn’t enough to restore them to sisterhood; it’s only half of what needs to be done. On the other half she must wait and never give up hope in the waiting.
When the longing is too much, she drifts backward to the moment that is part of her now, and warms her aches in the trust that only, loving sisters can know. Though trust is broken and takes two to mend, love remains. Where there is love, there is always hope for reconciliation.