Number 95

My Sister Has a New Phone Number

I know my own phone number. I know my daughter Grace's, too, because it is one number different than mine. Other than that? Nope. I don't know my daughter Emma's number. Don't know my partner Cindy's number. Don't know my mother's number. Zip. Nada. Nothing. For those of us of a certain age, this is way different than it used to be. Back in the day, by God, you had to remember those numbers. (Or look them up in a phone or address book - what a pain in the ass that was.)

Of course in the age of cell phones, this is not all that interesting. We take the phone numbers for our family members, friends, business acquaintances, and favorite pizza joint and enter them into our own cell phones. After that, we never need to actually think about the seven (or ten) digits needed to talk to the person in question. Same with texts, too.

Not a terribly compelling essay, thus far. Ooooooh... Technology changes things. How compelling, Nora.

Yesterday I learned my sister had a new phone number that I didn't know about. This came about because my mother had some surgery on Thursday. My brother had accompanied her, and when it was done, he sent a text to me and another (unknown) number letting us know things had gone well (yay!). I assumed the other number belonged to my sister, because we were the two logical people he would send a message to. My confusion arose, however, because I already have my sister's number programmed into my cell, so the text chain should have shown her name, instead of a random phone number. Unless my sister had gotten a new cell number and neglected to tell me.

Bingo.

Some background. I have two siblings. My sister is older than me by 6.5 years, and my brother is older by 3.5 years. They both currently live in the same small Ohio town that my mother lives in, while I live some distance away in Minnesota. I am, by design or delusion, the family healer. During times of family conflict, there is no question that I have often felt the need to try to "fix" things, although I make no claims as to my success rate. I've often heard that this is a common role for the youngest sibling to play, so maybe I never had a choice. In any event, as family's go, mine is somewhere between mildly to moderately fucked up, depending on the situation. In other words, though the specifics might be different, probably a lot like yours.

More background. My wife, Rebecca, taught me to have "difficult" discussions. These are those talks that people know they need to have with one another about various challenging topics, but often do everything they can think of to avoid them. At the beginning of our relationship, I was content with avoidance, but, alas, Rebecca was not. Over the years (and all sarcasm aside), she taught me the value of pursuing those conversations. I came to realized that the 'cleared' air afterwards was much better than the festering wonderment that accompanied a long delayed, but necessary conversation.

Last summer I visited my family in Ohio. Without going into specifics (for privacy's sake), I was troubled about a few different things. As the family healer who also believes in having difficult conversations, I sent a letter to my family members after I returned home. I knew I was stirring a hornet's nest, but honestly, my intention was to heal a fractured relationship. Without going into the specifics of why (again, for privacy reasons), I was intentionally blunt. Unfortunately, it did not have the desired effect. Detailing my concerns in unambiguous terms had not resulted in 'moments of clarity' for my family members (as I had hoped), so much as it really pissed off my sister. She hasn't communicated with me since.

And so the family fixer is in the middle of a situation she doesn't know how to fix. I could apologize for the letter, but that feels dishonest, because I still stand by the things I had to say. I could apologize for the tone of the letter and it's over all lack of diplomacy, but again, there were compelling reasons why I took that approach. And, once again for reasons I won't go into, there are other reasons I don't want to put myself right in the middle of things. I also thought that just giving her time, would help heal the wound. The news about her new phone number suggests otherwise.

It leaves me just incredibly sad. I don't want to be the siblings that don't talk to each other anymore because somebody got more of the family china than the other, but that's where were at. My attempt at plain speak was interpreted as a personal attack, and I'm not sure there's a way to fix it.

Balls.

P.S. And there it was until Easter Sunday. When my brother went to pick up Mother at the hospital, and sent the two of us another update. We both replied affirmatively. I included a picture of our snow covered backyard with a "Happy Easter from Minnesota" greeting. What followed was a brief round of texts centered around Jesus choosing to remain in the tomb had he encountered snow upon his resurrection, which included a few "LOLs" and "thumbs up" emojis. Perhaps not a full blown thaw, but I'll take it.