I’ve just returned from the airport to wave my almost-twenty-four year old daughter goodbye as she flies across the Pacific Ocean to the USA for a six week holiday. There’s nothing so remarkable about that: this is her fourth trip to New York. What is remarkable, however, is that her stepsister – a year younger than My Girl – is joining her for the last half of the holiday. Seven years ago, the distance between Melbourne and New York wouldn’t have been far enough to get away from each other.
It was fun and wonderful at the beginning, when My Girl was 16 and His Girl was 15. They became instant friends with echoed cries of “I’ve always wanted a sister!” . You can imagine how relieved Steve and I were. Things were fine; great, even, for the first year. The end of the honeymoon coincided with the introduction of two major events: our two families ‘merging’, with us moving into their family home, and at the same time His Girl bringing home The Boyfriend from Hell.
With reassurances of what a great guy he was, we applied the ‘benefit of the doubt’ creed and initially overlooked the dreadlocks, the outbursts of expletives and his smile-less, attitude-full face. We didn’t want to rain on His Girl’s parade; she was, after all, truly, and very madly, in love with this boy.
Initially, My Girl was happy for her step sister. Besides, she’d introduced them to each other, and was pleased for both of them. Unfortunately, the two girls shared a loft-style bedroom, separate from the house. And given Hell Boy visited us often and stayed late, privacy, awkwardness and boundaries all became a little blurry. Steve and I were in spot-fire control with our new co-joined family of eleven (twelve, if you counted Hell Boy’s constant over-stayed welcomes), juggling two businesses and the shared parenting with ex partners of seven of the children, we took our eye off the ball for too long with the two eldest girls. In a short time, a small crack had become an irreparable shatter.
My Girl hated coming home, hated her room, hated her stepsister, hated her stepsister’s boyfriend, hated school (where Hell Boy also attended), to the point of crying uncontrollably and saying she couldn’t live with us anymore.
It was gut-wrenching – not to mention guilt expanding – for me to see that what we had thought was going to be a wonderful thing for our two daughters had turned out to be The Biggest Disaster In Stepfamily History.
It’s a biological instinct to protect our children, so my first thought was to scoop up my three, abandon Steve, leave him with his six (plus Hell Boy) and go back from whence I came. But I had no whence to go back to. I felt like such a failure to My Girl who I had raised almost solo in all of her seventeen years. How could I manage to stuff up something I had so carefully and mindfully stepped into? What delusion was I under that I thought all this could possibly work and we’d all live Happiest Ever After?
But My Girl didn’t want me to up and leave. She wanted to leave, and was happy to, as long as she got away from her stepsister and Hell Boy. Before long, the car was packed. I was angry and outraged at the mess that had come of all this. But mostly I was sad and afraid - for all of us. When I said goodbye to My Girl at her cousin's place, I cried all the way home. Whatever or wherever home now was.
My Girl may be gentle and sensitive, but she’s also very strong, and despite it all, managed to successfully complete her VCE whilst sharing an apartment with her cousin during that tumultuous year. I’m sensitive too, but I wasn’t so strong. It was hard to let her go too soon. And I only got to see her a few times a week.
It took a long time for the stepsisters to even be in the same vicinity. But very slowly the ice thawed, and wounds were licked and healed in their own time as they eventually, albeit tentatively, orbited around each other at family gatherings.
At last, at last, Hell Boy was gone. For good. His Girl was distraught, broken into little pieces, inconsolable. Sometimes it takes a breaking down for things to build up again.
On our wedding day, just over six years ago, the girls put aside their hurts and celebrated with us, radiating beauty and making us both proud. They have grown into delightful, successful women, with kind hearts and happy friends. His Girl has a new boy now, and this one’s from heaven.
Last night at My Girl’s Bon Voyage dinner, she and her stepsister giggled like schoolgirls about what they were going to do and see in The Big Apple and LA.
This will be His Girl’s first overseas holiday. She’s excited and nervous about travelling so far and for so long. But thankfully she has her stepsister to meet her at the other end at JFK; one who will look after her and look out for her, just like any big sister would.
That’s what’s remarkable.
It was fun and wonderful at the beginning, when My Girl was 16 and His Girl was 15. They became instant friends with echoed cries of “I’ve always wanted a sister!” . You can imagine how relieved Steve and I were. Things were fine; great, even, for the first year. The end of the honeymoon coincided with the introduction of two major events: our two families ‘merging’, with us moving into their family home, and at the same time His Girl bringing home The Boyfriend from Hell.
With reassurances of what a great guy he was, we applied the ‘benefit of the doubt’ creed and initially overlooked the dreadlocks, the outbursts of expletives and his smile-less, attitude-full face. We didn’t want to rain on His Girl’s parade; she was, after all, truly, and very madly, in love with this boy.
Initially, My Girl was happy for her step sister. Besides, she’d introduced them to each other, and was pleased for both of them. Unfortunately, the two girls shared a loft-style bedroom, separate from the house. And given Hell Boy visited us often and stayed late, privacy, awkwardness and boundaries all became a little blurry. Steve and I were in spot-fire control with our new co-joined family of eleven (twelve, if you counted Hell Boy’s constant over-stayed welcomes), juggling two businesses and the shared parenting with ex partners of seven of the children, we took our eye off the ball for too long with the two eldest girls. In a short time, a small crack had become an irreparable shatter.
My Girl hated coming home, hated her room, hated her stepsister, hated her stepsister’s boyfriend, hated school (where Hell Boy also attended), to the point of crying uncontrollably and saying she couldn’t live with us anymore.
It was gut-wrenching – not to mention guilt expanding – for me to see that what we had thought was going to be a wonderful thing for our two daughters had turned out to be The Biggest Disaster In Stepfamily History.
It’s a biological instinct to protect our children, so my first thought was to scoop up my three, abandon Steve, leave him with his six (plus Hell Boy) and go back from whence I came. But I had no whence to go back to. I felt like such a failure to My Girl who I had raised almost solo in all of her seventeen years. How could I manage to stuff up something I had so carefully and mindfully stepped into? What delusion was I under that I thought all this could possibly work and we’d all live Happiest Ever After?
But My Girl didn’t want me to up and leave. She wanted to leave, and was happy to, as long as she got away from her stepsister and Hell Boy. Before long, the car was packed. I was angry and outraged at the mess that had come of all this. But mostly I was sad and afraid - for all of us. When I said goodbye to My Girl at her cousin's place, I cried all the way home. Whatever or wherever home now was.
My Girl may be gentle and sensitive, but she’s also very strong, and despite it all, managed to successfully complete her VCE whilst sharing an apartment with her cousin during that tumultuous year. I’m sensitive too, but I wasn’t so strong. It was hard to let her go too soon. And I only got to see her a few times a week.
It took a long time for the stepsisters to even be in the same vicinity. But very slowly the ice thawed, and wounds were licked and healed in their own time as they eventually, albeit tentatively, orbited around each other at family gatherings.
At last, at last, Hell Boy was gone. For good. His Girl was distraught, broken into little pieces, inconsolable. Sometimes it takes a breaking down for things to build up again.
On our wedding day, just over six years ago, the girls put aside their hurts and celebrated with us, radiating beauty and making us both proud. They have grown into delightful, successful women, with kind hearts and happy friends. His Girl has a new boy now, and this one’s from heaven.
Last night at My Girl’s Bon Voyage dinner, she and her stepsister giggled like schoolgirls about what they were going to do and see in The Big Apple and LA.
This will be His Girl’s first overseas holiday. She’s excited and nervous about travelling so far and for so long. But thankfully she has her stepsister to meet her at the other end at JFK; one who will look after her and look out for her, just like any big sister would.
That’s what’s remarkable.
My girl - June 08
His girl July 08
3 comments:
What a lovely story, Fi. They are gorgeous girls! And they'll have a wonderful time travelling together - a new stock of memories that only they will share.
love s
Thanks Fiona, yet another thoroughly enjoyable read on my lunch break at work! Kate is such a special person, and I have such fond memories of her as the cutest little girl ever with her blonde hair, contagious giggle and gorgeous high pitched salutations to 'Split Brigde' as we drove along the Eastern Fwy. As a kid I felt a bit like a big sister to Kate and am so grateful for the memories.
Lots of love,
Amy
I was here again (just so you know I regularly check in and love these blogs!!) :-)
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