Monthly Archives: August 2015

Re: Letting Go

By: Clare

I never write blog posts. I have sworn off blog posts for the rest of my life. And yet here I am, writing this, and there you are, reading this, and somewhere 3 sisters of mine are sitting behind a screen grinning gleefully because I promised “By: Clare” would never appear on the sweetridgesisters page again. But Kate was right, she has inspired me to do many things, including write a blog post, You got the oldest’s view, now you can have mine, which is valued at a higher price than Donald Trump.

All my life I’ve undergone The Interview. Meaning, I meet a person. Person learns I am the youngest child. Wait, I am the youngest of how many? Eyebrows shoot up. Eyes scrunch together. Then I hear The Question: “Sooo, do you like being the youngest?” My answer is always, “Well, there are pros and cons.” Then I give a soft chuckle and sprint walk away in the politest way possible.

It’s true, there are many, many pros and cons. But by far the biggest con has always been the niggling knowledge in the back of my head that whispered in my ear yearly and told me that I would always be left behind. And I was. The truth unfolded quietly and slyly; I never knew things were changing until it had already happened, like a rug being pulled out from under my feet.Six-year-old Clare discovered her siblings didn’t like playing Blind Man’s Bluff on the trampoline anymore.

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Eight-year-old Clare accepted the fact that her siblings would never agree to play tag again.

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Ten-year-old Clare saw Raph leave for college and knew the indoor games Raph directed would cease. At 14 her best friend/sister left, at 16 her worst enemy/brother. My siblings grew up so fast, and I was so eager to join them. I puffed up my chest and tripped over my feet to get there, but somehow always felt like I was lagging behind.

In a day I leave the cocoon of my home, where I have tracked my siblings’ adventures and dreamed up my own. In a day I will stand at the door and receive a final blessing and cross the threshold into adventure. It seems almost surreal, because I’ve seen it done so many times before, but always with me in the background. I thought I had my whole life planned, but I only just realized that goodbyes can be so hard, and the future can seem so vast, so mysterious, and so lonely.

Yes, there are perks to being the youngest, but there is always a gentle, yet unrelenting burden pressing on my shoulders. There are pages and pages of stories my siblings have written in our Slattery Book of Life, and mine has always and will always come last, just before the “The End.”  Everywhere I go, I leave a wreckage of red stamps that read “Finished.” Everything I do is carried on a wind of nostalgia and is narrated as “the end of an era.” Because of this, in some ways, it feels like I let down the family just by growing up.

My hands hold my childhood tightly tucked inside my heart. There you can find me sailing through the stormy seas of the English Channel on a trusty ship greatly resembling our hammock, or me carrying three antique schoolbooks down our dirt lane to a one-room schoolhouse greatly resembling our chicken shed, or me winning an Olympic gold medal after my killer serve was left unreturned by my Russian opponent, who greatly resembles the side of our white farmhouse.

For me, letting go means giving back. I want every other child to feel the innocence and love I was blessed with as a child. I want to dedicate my life to that cause and follow God blindly and humbly. I just have a lot of work to do on my way.

Like packing. Lots of packing.

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Letting Go

By Kate

My littlest sister leaves home this week. She’s leaving behind the cool green ridges of Western Wisconsin for the heat and the hustle and the dust of Dallas, Texas.

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Texas is a long way from Wisconsin, and the University of Dallas is a long way from a tiny high school in a farm town complete with hitching posts outside the hardware store. Not a lot of Amish people in Dallas, I imagine. Not a lot of Wisconsin farm girls either. It’s a long journey and a huge leap, but I know that my bold, beautiful, and surprisingly sophisticated sister will do just fine. In fact, she will shine, as she always has and always will.

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Clare has been beautiful since she was born. I was 17 when that happened, and part of the reason I put off leaving for college for an extra year was the fact that I couldn’t bear to disappear without holding her (and all the rest of my littlest siblings) for as long as I could. I read them stories and sang them to sleep and cried because I was terrified that they would grow up without having me be a real presence in their lives.

It turns out that my personality is strong enough to make a significant mark in the life of my family even from thousands of miles away. That’s a good thing, since my path has taken me further from home than I could have imagined. Before I left home when I was Clare’s age I fought fiercely to hold my family and my land in my heart, and there they remain. I let go, and I held on. I’m pretty sure I still managed to form Clare’s childhood quite a bit. If nothing else, I imparted the importance of wandering out of the farmhouse barefoot and dressed like a gypsy or a wood nymph or a queen, carrying a book about any of those type of characters, headed for the woods to dream under a tree. Dramatic makeup and a super amazing photographer like my sister Nicole on hand? Even better.

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Here is what is hard. Clare leaving for college is not just the end of her childhood. It’s the end of all of ours. As the ninth and last sibling to leave the nest, her departure means that we are raised, at least officially speaking. Granted, the height of the clamor and the chaos died down years ago. It’s been a long time since we played our particular version of tag, which at one point regularly included climbing out the third floor windows and scrambling around the roof while whooping and howling. We’ve ceased causing near heart attacks for our farmer neighbors and some of us are selling them corn or life insurance instead. We’re growing up and settling down and beginning to raise another generation of children, and that’s a wonderful thing. The past is gone, but the future is bright, particularly for my bright eyed, flame haired, college bound baby sister Clare.

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I’m far away from home and soon Clare will be too, but I’m holding her in my heart as she leaps out into the future.