The band Oasis has always made think of my sister, Judy.

Maybe because back in the day, when Judy was knee deep in several underground zines and had correspondence with several other zinesters, she was friends with this girl named Polly who loved Oasis. And I do mean * loved *. She was borderline obsessed with the band, who were just getting their start at this time. Polly met the brothers on several occasions, hung out with them and, if I remember correctly, even had a little “thing” with one of them. I can’t remember which. Liam, maybe? Anyway, Polly put out entire zines about the Oasis brothers and Judy and Polly were mail friends…much like the way I’m “friends” with a lot of you, via MyBloggers or Blogster or Facebook. And so whenever I hear an Oasis song, I think of Polly and then I think of Judy.

Or maybe Oasis puts me in mind of my sister because for a little while, way back in the day, we told people we had speed metal band and that we covered the Oasis song, “Wonderwall”. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, since we did spend a fair bit of time in Judy’s bedroom on hot, summer nights (late, late, late…that was my first introduction to the whole not sleeping thing) singing the song, speed metal style. But we didn’t actually have a band, per say and we didn’t perform anywhere, unless you count the late, late nights in Judy’s bedroom that summer and I’m fairly certain that you wouldn’t count it because, well, a bedroom isn’t a gig and two sisters aren’t a whole speed metal band. I distinctly remember telling this guy at school, Danny, that my sister and I had this band, we covered songs in speed metal and he believed me, asked me when our next show was and I couldn’t wait to tell my sister. We laughed about that for way too long.

Regardless, the band Oasis always, always, always makes me think of my sister. Especially the song, “Wonderwall”.

But it wasn’t until I was driving home from the Prior yesterday, after Michael’s doctor’s appointment (yes, I made it. And the kid is finally all caught up on his immunizations. It wasn’t snowing but thank DOG for four wheel drive all the same because it totally saved my butt more than a few times as the hospital where the doctor’s office is located is down a side street that hadn’t yet had it’s snow removed and I had to some sidewalk off roading…) that I really paid attention to that song while it was playing softly over my speakers from a mixed 90’s CD I’m fond of listening to while I’m driving.

More specifically, it was the first time I really paid attention to the lyrics. I realized that it is certainly no coincidence that it has always made me think of my Judy and it’s certainly no coincidence now that it brought tears to my eyes as I tried to concentrate on the road. I kept going back to the beginning of the song after each time it ended and listened to it over and over again while I drove.

“All the roads we have to walk are winding. And all the lights that lead us there are blinding.”

My sister and I started out close.

I can still remember the day that my parents brought her home from the hospital. I was a few months shy of three. I remember my Mom letting me hold her for a wee little while. There are pictures of me holding her in the padded rocking chair. In one of them I am smiling. In the other, she is screaming and I am stroking her face. That picture just about sums it up.

Whether or not anyone intended to make me feel responsible for my sister, I did. I was fiercely protective of her. I would scream at one of our baby sitters if they tried to make her eat eggs (which she hated). I would stand up to the bully at school when they made fun of her. I walked her to her kindergarten class every day. And she waited for me outside of my classroom, sitting on her plastic lunch kit, at the end of the day so that we could walk home together. We both remember that quite clearly.

I remember climbing into her crib. She would be crying and my Mom would be busy making her a bottle or whatever and I would climb in and put her toys in my mouth and bounce around and make her laugh.

We spent summers together at various baby sitters. Sometimes, later on, the teenaged baby sitter would come to stay with us. And if it was a particularly lazy baby sitter, I would be responsible for making Judy’s lunch and tidying up and occupying her. And always, always feeling responsible for her happiness and her well being.

Eventually, the baby sitters stopped and I was just in charge, period. All day, until my Dad got home from work. I can remember leaving to go and hang out with some of my friends at the mall and leaving Judy alone. I’m sure she was fine but I remember thinking non stop about her the whole time I was out. And I remember cutting the hanging out time short to go back because I was worried.

“There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don’t know how.”

As we got older, we did what most siblings do.

We fought. A lot.

We could go entire days without saying anything to one another but “fuck you.” To which the other would reply, “No. Fuck YOU.”

It would be those summers alone that would somehow bring us back together, if only for a little while.

Listening to Frank Sinatra on record and playing Scrabble in her room.

Practicing our speed metal versions of songs, of course.

Listening to the Pretty In Pink soundtrack and developing an appreciation for Otis Redding and then later, listening to an Otis Redding album and do a little version of “Tramp”.

Visiting my grandma in Kitchener. Getting to go shopping alone, without Mom, to Value Village and to the Fairview Mall. Going downtown in Kitchener to the funky shops.

I can remember Judy watching me climb out of my bedroom window one night and closing it behind me. I was sneaking off to spend the night with my incredibly abusive and sick as fuck boyfriend.

It was around that time that both Judy and I were partaking, completely separately and without the other one knowing, in some unhealthy behaviour as a coping mechanism for the pain we felt inside.

I didn’t know she was hurting.

And I didn’t know how to tell her that I was.

Everything happens the way that it’s supposed. I believe that with every part of who I am. But when I think back to those times, those years, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if we had shared with one another our secret. If we had come together and realized that we weren’t alone.

A moot point.

“I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.”

Since then, we’ve had times of closeness, for sure (like when she lived with Rock and I and was there when Emma was born and then after she moved out onto her own, she visited at least once a week to spend time with the baby and I) but we’ve also had times of great distance and even anger and resentment.

It’s really only been in the last year that we’ve started getting close again. Started reconnecting and building our relationship and developing it into something healthy and strong and wonderful. It’s not always easy. Years of walls and layers have made us both, at times, difficult to get close to. I remember her saying that to me about a year or so ago and I remember being so upset and hurt…because it was * true *.

The past year hasn’t been an easy one for my sister and the struggle and healing continues. I still have the fiercely protective side of me that comes out when she’s having a hard time. I still wish I could make her feel better with nothing more than a stroke of my hand or a silly song and dance to make her laugh.

I know I can’t.

But I also know that I can safely say that after all of this time, if my sister wasn’t my sister, I would absolutely want her to be my friend.

And so, on the chance that she is reading this, as she sometimes pops onto my blog to check on wassup, I’m going to share this….

And hope she knows how much I think of her.

“Cuz maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me. And after all, you’re my wonderwall.”

For now, I’ll think of you, Judy, if you think of me.