Small things can trigger me into becoming preoccupied with certain music. Lately I’ve been listening to “Save Me, San Francisco,” the truly enjoyable comeback album by Train. It’s a very happy album, full of pop-driven rock songs about love, happiness, relationships, the city of San Francisco, and even marriage. And what is responsible for this most recent musical trigger, you might wonder? My sister. Who’s in San Francisco. Getting married.
Her first marriage? Well, obviously if it was a first marriage it didn’t work out. And when it ended so soon after our younger sister had died, it was a sad and painful time for us to get through. I was pretty concerned about it all, and even though I’m the younger brother I felt protective: “What do I do? What will she need me to do that she won’t even know she needs? How will this affect my relationships with my nephews?” I did what I could, as did so many of her friends and people in our family. I knew she’d survive it all when one day someone in the family locked the door from her house to the garage, when nobody was in the house or had a key. Her solution? Grab a power tool out of the garage and cut off the doorknob. She took on the problem pragmatically and just knocked it out of the way. I found reassurance in the metaphor.
When she told me she was seeing a new guy, I was immediately on guard. It seemed like a quick rebound after so many years of marriage. I first suspected it might be getting serious when she went to see Bruce Hornsby with this David guy instead of me. Not that I’m BITTER.... But he stuck around, and made a big impression on a lot of people all at once when he came to Thanksgiving dinner for the first time, which is one of the big, and I mean big, family events of the year. He turned out to be someone she could talk to and spend time with, share music and movies and TV with, and someone to drive all over the 5-state area with to see anything resembling a Hold Steady concert. He was someone who’d play enthusiastically with the boys, both outdoor catch and indoor video games, and someone they respected. I don’t know how much truth there is to the cliché of saying women tend to marry someone like their fathers, but she didn’t do that at all. Instead, I’m struck much more by how many similarities David would have shared with our younger sister. It’s a tragic missed opportunity they’ll never know each other because it would have been an epic friendship.
My sister’s house is one of my happy places. Her world is the bridge that connects me to the normalcy of suburban life absent from my own: The minivans, the homework battles, the football practices, the yard work, all of the things that would make my life so much more complicated than it is, and yet the things I sometimes regret not having myself. Her yard is where I will bury Spencer’s ashes, because she offered it as a resting place.
Nobody has my back like she does. Nobody, absolutely nobody on Earth, can make me laugh as hard as she can. And her happiness is far more important to me than my own would ever be.
The next time I see her she’ll be married. And once again, I can take peace in knowing that she’s happy.
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