I have a “twin”…

Her name is Sheryl and we were born in Southern California, seventeen months apart. Because we were so close in age, my mom dressed us like we were identical twins. We had matching outfits for almost every occasion, including: Christmas, Easter, and when we had our school pictures taken.

Although we’ve grown apart in many ways, my sister and I will always have a special bond because we’re sisters. And when we get together, it’s as if no time has passed.

When I was in California last month, we spent an entire day in San Francisco, doing one of our favorite activities—shopping! We can get so distracted that we’ve had to create a signal to let the other one know we’re about to get “lost.” When one of us veers off course we yell out, “DETOUR!” Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. The rest of the day is usually spent in finding one another again. Our day in San Francisco was no exception; I found my sister at The Pearl Factory along Fisherman’s Wharf!

My sister “needed” some new jewelry, and three hours later we emerged with a necklace, three sets of earrings, and a ring. My sister bought so much stuff, the owner threw in a free oyster (regularly $14.95).

Sherrie was thrilled with all her “bargains”! And so in the ancient Japanese tradition, she tapped on the oyster shell three times—with bamboo sticks—and shouted “A-L-O-H-A.” It’s a way of welcoming the pearl back home.

When the oyster shell cracked open, the store owner announced in broken English, “Oh, you not want this one…very, very bad luck!” But my sister’s redheaded fierceness set in, and she demanded that she see its contents.

There in a cradle of slime lay a single black pearl!

So what does one do with a newly hatched pearl? Well, you roll it in Morton’s salt (just once!), dry it off, and look at it in wonder. The owner carefully placed it on a clean white cloth and shared with us that pearls come in male and female varieties, and ours was most definitely a “male” because it had an umbilical cord.

Umm…

Wait, it gets better. I made the mistake of saying, “My friend in Pennsylvania decided on a black pearl instead of a diamond for her engagement ring because of its rare beauty.”

Never say that out loud in a pearl shop!

For the next two hours we picked out ring settings for my sister’s BABY BOY PEARL. And before my sister had time to look for its TWIN, I yanked her out of the store!

What a day: we got lost, two men tried to pick us up; we got pick-pocketed (my leather gloves and my sister’s umbrella); we ate out of the same sourdough bread bowl filled with Boudin’s famous clam chowder while overlooking Alcatraz, and spent the remainder of our time looking for our car (an ancient sisterly tradition)—all in pouring down rain.

Why?

Because that’s what sisters do!

On the ride home (after we found the car!), we talked about our “boys,” and how incredible it was that our firstborns shared the same birthday—June 30th. Aaron Tyler Philpott was born on June 30, 1972 and Jeremy Christopher Pombo was born on June 30, 1981.

As the sun glistened through the clouds, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, we took time to remember Aaron. He has been gone from us now, exactly the number of years that he lived—seventeen years.

It was on President’s Day—17 years ago—that my sister called and said, “God took Aaron home.” Our lives were forever changed; I lost my sister and she lost me. The “twin” sisters in matching dresses became a faint memory. Gradually, the shadow lifted and we discovered things about ourselves we never knew existed:

I became a writer.

Mom became a painter.

Dad became a master woodworker—sculpting works of art out of maple, oak, and walnut.

And my sister…well, she became a mentor to all the grieving families who have gone through the unimaginable—losing a son or daughter.

Aaron took so much away from all of us, but in return he gave us back so much more.

“Like reeds bending to the force of the wind, soon they will stand straight and tall again, better able to withstand the winds of the storm.”

Yes, my sister and I are still “twins,” but now we’re so much stronger…better able to withstand the “winds of the storm.”

It’s not surprising to me that seventeen years later, it snowed while I was in California, just like it did on the day that Aaron passed away. And it didn’t come as a great shock, that we received one of the biggest snow storms of the year (yesterday February 12th) as I wrote this post.

“Somewhere It’s Snowing” was the theme of Aaron’s Memorial Service, and continues to give us hope that one day WE WILL see Aaron again in heaven!

If you would like to know more about SADS (Sudden Adult Death Syndrome), please check out this website: http://www.sads.org.uk/

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