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Grace in the Shadows

By Christine Dillon

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Late 1960s
 Sydney, Australia



It was love at first sight. 
And second. And third. 
Each memory was a lustrous pink pearl from a necklace she now kept locked away. Out of sight but not entirely out of mind. 
The first pearl was their first meeting. She pressed so close to the glass that it fogged, blurring the outline of the pink-wrapped bundle beyond. Years of pestering her mother and now the day had come. She had a baby sister. 
Finally.
She hopped on the spot. As though her sister read her mind, the tiny eyes snapped open and the little rosebud mouth opened in a yawn. She liked to think that, even then, her sister was seeking her out through the glass separating them. 
The second pearl was the memory of her mother as she cradled the baby close and enclosed her in love. Had Mum held her the same way? Like she was the most precious baby in the whole world? Her sister latched on and sucked. She could almost see her growing. 
She hugged her arms around her waist. Did her mum remember she had an almost eleven-year-old daughter, or was she too cocooned with the baby? 
She leaned forward. “Do you think I’ll ever have a baby?” 
Her mother smiled. “Probably—most girls do. But don’t grow up too quickly. I want my daughters with me as long as possible.” 
It was special to be wanted. Like being wrapped in her favourite mohair blanket on a winter’s evening. 
The third pearl was the first time she’d held her sister. The responsibility lay heavier than the child. Like she held a delicate china figurine. 
She gazed down. Oh, the little cutie-pie. Solemn dark blue eyes stared back at her. What did they see? An older sister who already adored her? No kid would ever bully her sister. She’d be a hovering presence. A wall of protection. A hero. 
The subsequent years had added more pearls. Creamy, dreamy memories. Times that became her only joys in the struggle wearing her down. 
One pearl she remembered far too often. It had been a blazing beauty of an autumn. Bright blue skies, crisp mornings, and breezes which blew the leaves in languid eddies.
Her little sister swished through the fallen leaves, giggling as they crackled underfoot. She stooped down and threw armfuls of leaves into the air. They swirled around her in whirls of red, yellow, and faded brown. 
Oh, how she loved this little sister of hers. How could she think of leaving her?
She swooped down and tickled. 
“Don’t, don’t,” her sister squealed. 
They chased each other around the trees until they were both worn out. A sunbeam sliced through the leafless branches and illuminated the toddler in a warm glow. 
“Look, look. The sun is shining right on me.” Her sister raised her arms above her head, tilted her face to the sun, and laughed as she twirled. 
Pure joy. 
Another pearl. Another memory to lock away.


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