I joined the military in 2014. Since then, it has been very difficult for me to go home; I haven’t been home in four years. I have just gotten home from a ten-hour flight. I have not slept for two days, and I let my family know this before I even land. They are all understanding. “Great,” I think. My mom picks me up at the airport and we grab food and go home. I decide to try and stay awake with my mom until she has to go to work. This is futile, as my lack of sleep is rapidly catching up on me. My mom informs me that my sister will be over after she leaves. I nod and tell her I am going to bed.

My mom calls my sister and tells her that I will be sleeping by the time she gets here and to use the back door. I am starting to feel feverish because of how little sleep I’ve had and it’s hard to fall asleep. But fast forward about an hour and a half: my mom has left for work and I’m fast asleep.

I am awoken suddenly by loud banging at the door. I assume this is my sister. I remember what my mom said and try to go back to sleep. She walks to the bedroom window and begins to bang on this, as well. Very annoyed, I get up and unlock the front door and open it. I then immediately go back to bed without saying anything because I can barely see straight, let alone stand.

About five minutes pass and my sister enters the room.

Sister: “Why didn’t you wait by the door for us?”

Me: “Because I’m tired, [Sister], and it’s making me sick.”

Sister: “And? I came over here to see you, and I brought my fiancé and step-kids, too.”

Me: “Well, that’s good. If you hang around a while, I’ll be up in a few hours and we can hang out then.”

My sister didn’t hear me, apparently, because I turn over to look and there are the kids, who seem nice.

Me: “Oh, hello, I’m [My Name].”

The kids say hello and introduce themselves. I manage a smile at them while my sister huffs angrily and walks out of the bedroom with the kids. I assume she has gotten the picture, so I roll over and fall asleep immediately.

About ten minutes later, I’m woken up again suddenly by my sister yelling at me.

Sister: “DO YOU KNOW HOW RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL YOU ARE BEING?”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Sister: “I BROUGHT EVERYONE OVER TO MEET YOU AND YOU THINK IT’S MORE IMPORTANT TO SLEEP?”

Me: “I told you, I haven’t slept—”

Sister: “I DON’T CARE! YOU’RE BEING A CHILD ABOUT IT!”

Me: “Okay, [Sister].”

I stop listening to her as she continues her rant. Eventually, she storms out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Of course, since she has no keys, she can’t lock the doors to the house, so I have to get up and do it.

My mom returns home from work late that night.

Mom: “What happened with your sister today?”

I explain to her exactly what happened, sparing no details. She sighs.

Mom: “I think you should apologize to her.”

Me: “For sleeping?”

Mom: “She came out here to see you.”

Me: “And she knew I hadn’t slept in two days.”

Mom: “She didn’t know.”

Me: “I told her before I got here and you told her earlier before you left for work. What do you mean, ‘She didn’t know’?”

Silence.

Mom: “Well, she’s your sister and you should still apologize.”

Me: “Okay, Mom.”

The next morning, I messaged my sister, apologizing for sleeping while she was there. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. Thinking that was the end of it, I decided to let it go.

I got a phone call from Dad later in the day, and the conversation went pretty much the same as it had with my mom the previous night.

I was pissed. Everyone knew I hadn’t slept and I needed to sleep. Yet here I was, completely in the wrong. I’d been gone for four years and I was being treated rather horribly by my own family.

I later found out that [Sister] would not come to Thanksgiving unless I apologized for being a rude a**hole. That pushed me over the edge, and I decided that if she wanted to act like a spoiled brat like she always had, then she could. I wasn’t going to apologize again for sleeping.

True to her word, my sister did not show up for Thanksgiving. The entire week, both of my parents urged me to apologize to her and be the bigger person. I told them that I had already apologized and refused to do so again. I left after the holiday without seeing my sister again.

I wish this had a happy ending, but it never does with my sister.

My brother announces that he and his girlfriend of many years are engaged and are planning on having a wedding the following year. They give nine months’ notice, at least, to people who will be invited and announce what the colour theme for the wedding will be — purple. In the time between the announcement and the wedding date, I am easily able to order a dress from an online retailer in London and still have time to replace it if I need to, which I ultimately don’t.

The wedding weekend arrives. The wedding is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a sunny day on the beach, and I can’t help but cry because my brother is actually marrying the mother of his three children and love of his life. He has never seemed happier.

[Brother] is my half-brother; we share a mum but not a dad. Growing up, it was my dad who raised [Brother] and me, so to him, my dad was his dad. My dad, prior to marrying my mum, had a first wife and a couple kids with that wife, including [Half-Sister]. [Brother] and I have always had some issues with her. She is only my half-sister, not [Brother]’s, but he still included her in the wedding and such as a family member and guest. I don’t notice at first, because I am too caught up in the whirlwind of my brother’s wedding ceremony, but [Half-Sister] isn’t wearing purple. No, no. She is wearing WHITE.

To be specific, she is wearing her WHITE WEDDING DRESS to someone else’s wedding. [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law] are pissed, especially [Sister-In-Law].

At the reception, some people have changed clothes. It is my first ever wedding, so I didn’t think that far ahead; I still wear my soft lilac dress without a problem while everyone eats and shares some drinks, interacts with the bride and groom — what I assume to be normal wedding things.

But [Half-Sister].

Oh, [Half-Sister], [Half-Sister], [Half-Sister].

She is feeling extremely sad and lonely because no one is paying attention to her: the thirty-something-year-old woman who wore her wedding dress to someone else’s wedding. I wonder why no one wants to interact with her? She begins crying maybe halfway through the reception, openly, loudly, and in a way that clearly begs for someone to come notice her. I’m a nice person, so I try to be the good half-sister I should be and bite the bullet to go sit with her for a little while and ask her what’s wrong.

Half-Sister: “No one is paying attention to me!”

I stare at her, confused a little.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Half-Sister: “Everyone is talking with [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law], but no one is talking to me! And when I try to speak with [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law], they don’t talk to me!”

I sigh internally and can’t help but wonder how she didn’t connect the dots.

Me: “[Half-Sister], it’s their wedding. Of course, everyone is going to be talking to them and they’re going to be busy.”

Half-Sister: “I don’t care! I’m [Brother]’s sister, so he should talk with me more.”

Actually, lady, you’re not his sister. I am. But okay, whatever. I was able to slip away and spend time with some other family who weren’t acting as if this day was all about them. After the ceremony, [Sister-In-Law] admitted to me she was livid about how [Half-Sister] wore the wedding dress. She’d had plenty of time to plan for the wedding and get appropriate attire, but when finally confronted, [Half-Sister] said that she had no other dress she could wear.

Even nearly four years later, I’m still pissed at my half-sister for doing that. My mum, [Brother], and [Sister-In-Law] are also pissed. I’ve since cut contact with [Half-Sister], as we never really had a good bond anyway. As far as I know, [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law] have limited contact with her but that can’t be helped as they live in the same city, while I happily live in a place where an ocean is between me and her.

My grandmother (and my mother) are both extremely strict about not being interrupted while on the phone.

One year while visiting my grandmother, I decide to climb a large tree in her yard. I don’t know how high it is, but I am almost to the top. Now, being eleven, I naturally climb onto a dead branch, and it snaps.

I fall, plummeting to the ground. As soon as I realize I’m alive, I notice that I can’t quite move my left arm.

Me: *To my brother* “Go inside and tell Grandmother!”

My brother is on the autism spectrum and is a couple of years younger than me. He goes into the house, sits down, and waits. I’m sure it’s only a few minutes, but for me, it seems like an eternity.

Finally, my grandmother hangs up the phone.

Grandmother: “What’s the matter?”

Brother: “[My Name] fell out of a tree.”

At the hospital, a nurse asks me about the details. I tell them I lay there on the ground for a while after I fell.

Nurse: “Why?”

Brother: “I had to wait until Grandmother got off the phone to tell her about it.”

My grandmother had to explain to them what was going on. I do remember a social worker ushering them out of the room and asking some questions. After that, both Grandmother and Mother explained to us that if it’s an emergency, we need to tell them right away.

When I am nine and my sister is five, our neighbor Roger decides he needs to live in an assisted living facility. Knowing that I play violin and piano, he gives me his clockwork, non-electronic metronome — a device that clicks to keep you on tempo. I put it on top of the rather tall upright piano.

Later that week, I am given an English assignment to use a thesaurus on a previously-written essay.

Me: “Mom, have you seen Roger’s Thesaurus anywhere?”

Mom: “What did you say?”

Sister: “What’s a thesaurus?”

Mom: “Did you say, ‘Roger’s Thesaurus’?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s what my teacher wants me to use.”

Sister: “What’s a thesaurus?”

Mom: “It’s not Roger’s; it’s Roget’s! I’ll call and ask your father where it is. I know we have one. Go ahead and get on the computer.”

I turn to explain to my sister what a thesaurus is, but she has left the room, so I head downstairs to the family desktop.

A couple of minutes later, I hear a crash from upstairs. Figuring it is my mom dropping things like usual, I ignore it. My sister then comes bounding down the stairs with a freshly-forming bruise on the side of her face, metronome in hand.

Sister: *Happily* “I got Roger’s dinosaur for you! I had to climb on the coffee table to get it, and the coffee table fell over and I fell, but don’t worry. I didn’t break anything. I’m okay, too.”

Me: “Um, thanks. That was really nice of you. But I don’t have to practice violin until later. Why’d you bring this to me? And why do you think it’s a dinosaur?”

Sister: “But you told Mom you needed Roger’s dinosaur for your English homework! This is the only thing Roger gave you!”

I figure out that the “saurus” in “thesaurus” confused her. I explain that this is a metronome and what a thesaurus is. 

Mom: “Your dad had the thesaurus in the shed for some— [Sister], are you okay?!”

Sister: “I’m fine! Give [My Name] the dinosaur book so it can teach her fancy words! [My Name], will you teach me some fancy dinosaur words, too?”

Twenty-five years later, my sister still calls long, complicated words “dinosaur words.” I still have that metronome.

I am a pre-k teacher and it is picture day. I have a set of identical twin girls in my classroom. Their mom asks me if I mind asking the photographer to get a picture of the two of them together. The school has used this photographer in the past and I know he’s usually willing to take a photo of siblings together. His assistant comes into the room, and one of the children she asks for, by first and last name, is one of the twins.

Me: “Would it be okay if [Other Twin’s First And Last Name] came, as well? They’re sisters and their mom would like to get a picture of the girls together.”

Mind you, I have both girls standing next to me. The only difference is that one wears glasses, but without the glasses or personally knowing the girls, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

Assistant: *Rolls her eyes* “Are they siblings? Because we don’t do friends.”

There’s a very long pause before I respond.

Me: “They’re identical twins.”

She blushed and muttered an apology and took both girls. The girls thought it was very funny that the lady didn’t see that they were identical.