I am grateful for many women in my life.
I trust and feel genuinely connected to the women I have the privilege of working closely with professionally, and there are seven women – three sisters and four very long-term friends (although I consider all seven of them sisters) – whom I owe particular gratitude.
After a 42-year struggle with an addicted, mentally-ill husband, a man I loved dearly, my marriage and my hopes for sailing into the sunset with a healed man finally blew up. My heart was broken, and there were many times that I fell to the floor in tears and honestly believed I might not be able to get back up.
My colleagues would close my office door and let me cry. And, my seven sisters – who by this time could justifiably have been tired of my years of angst – surrounded me and supported me and loved me.
Even though I had forgiven numerous affairs, supported four stints in rehab, and justified actions on his part that put my financial future in jeopardy, not a single one of these women ever lectured me. When I was at the most emotionally vulnerable points, all seven of them checked in on me regularly.
My three biological sisters live nearby, and one of my favorite pictures is of the four of us standing on the front porch waving goodbye to a moving van. It was loaded with his things. They had helped me pack them up and made me laugh as I cried through the whole stinking process.
As for my four other sisters, each one of them flew to me from DC, Colorado, Minneapolis, and France for at least a week each to reassure me that with their love and wisdom and deep friendship I would, indeed, get up off the floor.
–Sharon M. Andrews
Winston-Salem, North Carolina