I Wish My Sister Was More Present in My Kids’ Lives

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For various reasons, my sister Emily and I are on shaky ground. It’s a messy mix of childhood grievances, competitive spirits, and stubbornness. In a moment of family crisis, when I reached out to her, she warned me that a second call would lead her to block my number. She seems to have a soft spot for my husband, though. She’s connected with him on social media, so she gets to see snapshots of our three boys: fishing trips, silly faces, and all the joyous chaos that comes with raising little ones. But that’s where our interaction ends. I learned about her divorce months after it happened—thanks, Mom.

Emily met my eldest when he was just an infant, back when she flew down for a visit. She held him, played with him, and shared meals with us during her four-day stay. We were over the moon about her effort, yet that was the last time we saw her. My middle child and youngest have never even laid eyes on her, nor has she sent them so much as a birthday card or Christmas gift. We missed her wedding due to a whirlwind of valid excuses—money, time, and very young kids—but apparently, that was the last straw for her.

I genuinely wish she would take an interest in my children’s lives. Even if she holds a grudge against me, I wish she would at least reach out to them. A simple phone call or a birthday reminder, maybe even a noisy toy on Christmas, would do wonders.

The boys have other aunts who are actively involved. My husband’s sisters, Sarah and Michelle, never fail to send birthday gifts, holiday surprises, or even cards for Halloween. We often drive up to visit them in Virginia, where they shower the kids with affection and playtime. It’s hard not to notice that their dad’s family is so warm and loving, while mine seems distant.

They also miss out on hearing stories about my childhood. Sure, I can share tales from my past, but it’s not quite the same without another voice to back me up, challenge me, or paint the full picture. The only one who can tell them what I was like growing up—good, bad, or downright embarrassing—is my mom. I’m not asking for them to hear I was perfect, but a realistic portrayal of our upbringing would be so valuable.

Emily is the only aunt in our family without kids of her own. She could be the fun aunt—the one who gives gifts like quirky onesies or those outlandishly loud toys that parents dread. Imagine the excitement of her spoiling them with Lego sets or ridiculous gadgets like moon sand or Bunchems.

She could also serve as a role model for acceptance. My kids have a vague understanding that girls can marry girls, but having their lesbian aunt actively in their lives would teach them a lot more about love, inclusion, and family diversity.

Visiting Emily would be another great opportunity. She lives in one of America’s LGBTQ+ hubs, a vibrant and diverse city. We’d love to visit, especially since lodging can be pricey. We could explore the town’s whaling history, hunt for seals, and share thrilling tales of great white sharks lurking offshore—all while enjoying ice cream together. The kids would absolutely adore her for that.

Furthermore, Emily could share stories about her job as a police officer, which would fascinate my boys. They see cops around but having an actual family member in that role would be incredible for them. They’d love to hear her hilarious anecdotes, like the one involving a possum in a bar. It would be a real treat for them to see her patrol car too!

Then there’s the Lego factor. Emily loves Legos, and so do my kids. They could bond over building epic creations, and it would mean so much for my boys to have an adult who genuinely wants to play with them. I often hear my eldest say things like, “Remember Aunt Emily? She babysat us!” To which I have to gently correct him, “Actually, she never did.” He looks confused, and when I probe further, he’ll say, “I know you two don’t get along.” It breaks my heart; my childhood squabbles shouldn’t shadow his experience.

Emily tolerates my husband, which gives me a glimmer of hope. She likes his posts on social media and might actually answer his calls. He sees her as a fun, stubborn person, and he’s probably right. If only we could bridge this gap, she would likely love my kids as well, and they wouldn’t have to wonder why we visit their dad’s family but not mine. She could offer a much-needed counterbalance to my husband’s more reserved family.

I long for her to reconnect, to share stories of our past, and to give my children a deeper understanding of our family history. They need that connection, but more than anything, they need her.