A sisterhood of sisters? There’s nothing more powerful

My mother gave me the best gift imaginable – three sensational sisters. We’ve been spending even more time together of late because our dear mum has needed daily nursing since her release from hospital three months ago. Jenny, Liz, Carolyn and I have been on a rota, taking care of her. We joke endlessly about which of us is top of Mum’s speed dial. Some nights we all end up sleeping over, in the single beds of our childhood. Impromptu pyjama parties ensue, with pillow fights and cacophonous laughter.

And there’s been much laughter, of course, because it’s the best medicine. For example, whichever sister does Mum’s shopping is supposed to put the credit card back in her wallet, but we often forget, prompting urgent searches.

“Before you freeze the card, retrace your steps,” Mum suggested the other day. Which is how I found it stuck to the bottom of the ice-cream tub in the freezer. I’d frozen Mum’s card, literally.

Sisters possess a psychological shorthand, instinctively understanding one another. When one of us is going through a rough time, the other three rally with offers of chicken soup and/or internal organs. If under attack, the wagons circle. Wagons? Who am I kidding? Having three formidable sisters on your side is like having a bombproof, flame-retardant armoured vehicle on hand for quick getaways.

My sisters constantly lift me up two octaves on the happiness scale without even realising they’re doing so. And when we’re together, laughter effervescing up in us like champagne, we quaff and quip and dance to female torch songs until the wee hours.

Nor do we care that our over-exuberant mum manoeuvres, circa 1982, often leave us with a bad case of ARDI (ABBA Related Dance Injuries). They are my Belt of Orion; always there, lined up alongside each other. Whenever I feel lost and can’t find my place in life, they are my bookmark.

Our mum was a kid-and-career-juggler, balancing her job as school principal with raising a family. My sisters and I followed feminist suit. None of us waited to be rescued by a something Tall, Dark and Bankable, we stood on our own two stilettos.

I sometimes found the maternal decathlon overwhelming – dashing from school sports days to the office to kids’ orthodontic check-ups. But whenever I felt like a gymnast losing my balance on a beam, my sisters provided a safety net. And vice versa.