Like two old women, we sat on the front porch. Speaking in quiet tones, we shared our experiences of daughters, mother to mother. Neither of us particularly wise, neither of us particularly ignorant, we were just two women wiling away the warm day and sharing our hearts.
Women seem to have a special bond with one another. Perhaps men do, as well, but not being a man, it seems to me that if they do have such a connection, it is much different than that which women share. We seem to understand one another on so many levels, and relate to experiences as if they've been our own. Being, seemingly, nurturers by nature, we rise to the task of caring for one another. We speak, we listen, we teach, we learn. Sometimes we laugh together, sometimes we share the tears. Sometimes we can be just silent, and in our silence, understand.
She is not my sister, not in the commonly-used terminology. We are not joined by blood, but more than that, I think. We are joined by a common thread of female-ness. Though she and I are very different in so many ways, we are strung together with an inate understanding of one another. We don't need to have been born of the same parents. We each may call the other 'sister'. We are comfortable with that label, as it depicts a relationship that is closer than a friendship.
And so, we sit together, out of the hot sun, and compare our experiences shared with other, younger, females. We offer our understandings of their current behaviors, and our encouragement that they will grow through this time, knowing that we did, ourselves. We share words of support and testimonies of victories in the years of child rearing. We have an ear that hears, a word that soothes, a heart that cares, a hand to hold. We have a sisterhood.
