We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love.
- Mother Teresa
A phone call across the Atlantic between the United States and Europe in 1980 cost about five dollars a minute. There was not much time to say more than a quick “Happy Birthday” or “I miss you.” How could my sister and I remain close when I lived so far away?
We had lived a grand childhood, my sister and our three brothers, in an old Victorian parsonage in the center of our New England town. Ann was the reverend’s oldest child, and through the years, she consoled us, cracked us up and corrected our English. She also drove me to a Beatles concert, advised me about girls, and even pretended to like The Three Stooges once in a while. In short, she was always there. One family photograph shows her lifting me, as a toddler, up to the mailbox so I could put in a letter. We believed that we “would always be together, if the fates allow,” as the Christmas song goes. However, the fates were not quite so kind. Love for a Swiss girl tore me away from my home and family and brought me to the world of banks and watches and five-dollar-a-minute phone calls. It was a painful choice, and the adjustment was difficult. Yet, through it all, my sister weaved her magic.
Before the days of e-mail, faxes, chat rooms, text messaging and cell phones, she talked to me regularly through the only way possible – long, loving letters and a beautiful greeting card on my birthday. Every day I checked my mailbox for signs of the envelope with the blue and red border and the words par avion. We shared everything about love, life and laughter and, most important, expressed our affection for each other. Across the miles, she continued to console, crack up and correct.
Suddenly, the letters stopped. Had I said something wrong? I grew more nervous each day as my mailbox provided no par avion. Attempts at phone calls went unanswered. Then, one day, I realized just how strong a sister’s love can be. As I was returning from a trip to the grocery store, I was struck utterly speechless as I saw my sister standing at the front door to my apartment building. She had flown from Massachusetts to Zurich to surprise me on my birthday. She handed me a greeting card, saying, “I wanted to deliver this one personally.” We embraced in a flood of emotion. That day, we realized that time and distance would be no match for a sister’s love.
That card, now twenty years later, is displayed in my Swiss office. Among the cold office equipment is a warm reminder of what it means to be a sister. Now I hold the card in my hands and read one more time: “Across the miles, my heart is with you always.” I smile and whisper, “Annie.”
- Arthur Bowler