Pulling into the driveway at our house, I click the button to open the garage and notice that my sister June is sitting on the front porch swing zeroed in on her phone. I arranged for her to come stay with Sam for a few hours so that I can go to the grocery store and shop in peace. And wow that statement makes me feel like the physical manifestation of my mom from twenty years ago.
Do I give my man card over to someone directly or mail it in somewhere?
But honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without the help of my sister (and my other three sisters) this past year. At one point in my life, I lamented the fact that I had four of them—all younger than me. Growing up, it was like I was always sneaking into a sorority house, trying not to get noticed as I tiptoed past each of their rooms. Someone was always crying. Always heartbroken. Always threatening to run some dumb teenage guy over with her little Honda Civic.
Now that we are all grown adults, living our own lives, I wish they would move in with me and never leave.
June glances up when she sees us approach and smiles wide. It falters when she sees Sam open the truck door and dive out before I’ve even had a chance to put it in park. It’s as if I’ve kidnapped her and she would rather open the door and hurl herself out onto the concrete while driving 70 MPH down the interstate than live the rest of her life with me.
Sam’s flip-flops flap angrily, and her ponytail swings like a pendulum all the way into the house. She doesn’t even look back at me—just slams the door shut behind her.
I wince a little and turn to my baby sister whose eyes are now as wide as saucers.
“What in the world was all that about?” she asks as I make my way up the front steps and join her on the porch swing.
“She’s mad at me.”
June laughs. “Yeah, I gathered that. But why? I’ve never seen her throw a fit like that. Usually, she just goes quietly and hides in her room.” June is the only one of my sisters who isn’t married yet, so she’s been around this past year more than anyone else.
“Yeah, well. Unfortunately, those outbursts are becoming more normal by the minute. She even slammed her door in my face the other day. Nearly gave me a bloody nose.”
“Yikes. So what are you doing wrong?” she asks with a playful grin.
I know she didn’t mean it seriously, but the comment still stings me somewhere vulnerable. I feel so out of my element lately. I’m quickly approaching the years where Sam will enter puberty, and then I’ll have a whole new pile of worries and insecurities on my plate. Right now, I’m just obsessed about making sure Sam doesn’t have a seizure while she’s in the shower where she would fall and hit her head. In a few years, I’ll be worrying about seizures AND the boy who keeps her out past curfew.
My hands find my face, and I rub my palms across my eyes all the way up through my hair. “I wish I knew. I’m 99% sure I’m failing at this single-parenting thing.”
June shifts beside me and puts her hand on my back. “Oh, come on now, it was only a joke. You’re doing a great job with Sam.” She rubs circles on my back like I’ve done for her a hundred times. My reply is a half-hearted grunt.
“I’m serious!” She leans in and lays her head against my shoulder. “You’re the best dad I know, besides our own. Top-notch, really. I can’t think of anyone else in the world who could handle all that you’ve gone through this year with so much ease.”
With so much ease? Last night, after Sam went to bed, I was so angry with how my life has turned out this year that I tore a pillow in half. I’d never felt so powerful and masculine until feathers went flying everywhere, making it look more like a scene from a 1990’s slumber party.
I shake my head and sit up straight, dragging a deep breath into my lungs. “I feel like I’m losing her, June. She’s only ten, and she’s gone through so much heartache this year. It’s like I can physically see her shutting down.”
June wraps her arm around mine, and we start to swing. “You’ve both had a tough go of it. But I think it’s just an adjustment period. As long as you keep showing up and proving that you love her enough to stick with her through her anger and outbursts, she’ll pull through it all. And you’ll both figure out how to live with her seizures. It’ll just take some time.”
I nod, wondering when my baby sister got smarter than me. Truthfully, though, I think it happened a long time ago.
“I wish there was something I could do to cheer her up.”
“Well, maybe there is,” says June, looking up at me as if I’ve never even considered exploring this idea before now.
“I asked if she wanted to go out for ice cream, but she didn’t seem too thrilled by that idea.” Apparently, when your dad shuts down your masterful plan to con him into getting you a service dog, and then when you have to watch him act like a jerk to a perfectly nice stranger, you don’t have much of an appetite for bubblegum ice cream.
“Hmm. Maybe there’s something I can do with her while you’re at work. Is there a movie she’s been wanting to see?”
“No.”
“Does she need any new clothes? I could take her shopping.”
“She hasn’t been interested in clothes lately.”
“Well…is there anything else you can think of? Anything she’s mentioned lately that she really liked? Or wanted? Anything she’s shown interest in that would get her excited about life again?”
I stop our swinging, and my gaze turns toward the house as if I’ve suddenly developed x-ray vision and can see right through the walls to the stack of pamphlets piled up on the kitchen counter.
My answer has been in front of me all along, and I dislike the idea just as much as I did yesterday. I am still holding tight to all of the reasons I think getting a service dog would be a bad idea, but I’m feeling just desperate enough to let myself see that maybe it’s exactly what Sam needs to give her something to look forward to.