This is my outrageously beautiful sister Terri Lee.

My hero, my rock, my person.

We were not especially close growing up,  but as we grew into adulthood, we formed not only a friendship, but a bond that sealed our status as best friends. It hasn’t always been easy. We had children, we went through bad marriages that ultimately ended in divorces.  Sometimes we simply didn’t have the time to devote to one another. But even in those sparse times, I never doubted the depth of our devotion to one another.

When my husband Michael took his life in 2009, Terri and I had not been communicating much. In truth, I was wrapped up in my marriage, my children.  Although Terri had gone through a very difficult break up, I had not really been there for her. It wasn’t intentional, but a failure on my part to be there for her just the same.

When Terri got the call in the middle of the night from my son Shane that something terrible had happened with Michael,  it took her a bit in those foggy moments to realize that it was Shane and that I needed her. Her sister instincts kicked in, and this woman, this amazing woman, hardly left my side for one solid year after that tragic night. Forget the fact that I had failed her during her difficult time, she never hesitated to be there for me.

During that year my sister witnessed my pain, my broken heart, my anger, my self doubt. She endured my tears, my questions that had no answers. She put her life on hold to be there for me.  Even though you could call it the worst of times, in its bittersweet truth, it was the best of times. We took trips;  summer at the beach, Christmas in Charleston.  Terri introduced me the into the world of photography (she has that photographer’s eye). She taught me to see beauty and quirky and oddity through a camera lens. We took trips just to shoot, her with the finest equipment, me with my simple point and shoot. In truth, I don’t know what would have become of me had it not been for that time with my sister. There was healing that was taking place that I couldn’t see in the making.

And for reasons that I will not disclose, our relationship became fractured. We were both hurt. We hurt each other. We said things that I never dreamed we would ever heal from.

We held our distance for six long months.

During that time, I became roommates with a long time friend. I became active in painting classes, I forged new friendships. That was when I decided that along with these new beginnings, to change from being Cathy to simply, Cat. I’ve always had a few people in my life that would call me Cat, and it always evoked a sense of closeness, like an inner circle. So why not at this new time in my life to simply begin introducing myself as Cat. And so it began. I even changed my name on Facebook to Cat Corrier. I knew that it was possible for change to happen. Many years ago the friend I had known as Martha for as long as I had known her, decided after her mother passed away that she wanted to be called Martie. I never thought I would get used to it… but I did. Now I can’t hardly recall a time when she was known as Martha.  So I knew it could be done, change could happen.

Those six months without my sister in my life were tough, but I held on to my anger like a life preserver. I held on to my resentment as pain relief. I was stubborn. I knew that Terri was going through some life changing events of her own, but I refused to be the first one to appear weak, to be the vulnerable one to make the first act of reconciliation.  Terri made the first move, and in reality, made her the strong one, made her the brave one.

It was a birthday card from her. Simple. But I crumbled, and I cried from relief that this void in my life was over. We spent my birthday unpacking her belongings into her new apartment. We really didn’t want to talk about that thing that kept us apart for six months, so we didn’t.

The next time we were in a social situation together (we had discovered a local sports bar in her area), I introduced myself to the gentleman next to me as Cat. Terri quickly intervened, dispelled the notion that my name was Cat…. and that was the end of that. She would have nothing to do with this so called name change. The sister had spoken. And although in my writings, and in my signature on my silly little paintings, I am Cat Corrier, I had  resigned myself to the fact that I am stuck with Cathy.

This year (2014) marks the third year of my reconciliation with my sister. We have had an incredible three years. Lazy days at the pool, grilling at The Bistro (it’s the grill pad at her apartment that Terri marked as her territory), nights at “The Dog” (our local hangout) and countless hours on FaceTime. Not a day goes by that we don’t communicate in one form or another.

So, this year when my birthday rolled around and I opened my gift from her, it was an embroidered beach towel especially made for me:

Years ago I was asked if I would rather be accepted or understood. My instinctual answer was I would rather be understood. But the more I thought about it, the more I leaned toward accepted. Because to be accepted goes beyond the reach of being understood. It means, “I may not understand you (or your reasonings, or your way of thinking, or your choices), but I accept you regardless.”  And that’s what that embroidered towel meant to me.

Of course, in my sister’s eye I will always be Cathy.. and that’s ok. But if someone else calls me Cat in front of her, she will respect it.. or at least suck it up and let me have my moment.

Cat