You email me two selfies. One with shagging hair; one after your haircut. I don’t notice those differences. I am disturbed by how old you have gotten, and that you look like someone I should know. Not my sister, but someone else.
I have it! You remind me of grandma. Long dead now, but something about your features reminds me of grandma. I don’t like to see that in your face. You are my sister, not my grandmother. When did this transformation happen? Is it because you look older that I associate you with a grandmother? Geez!
After I get my cataracts removed, I look older too. I see the scars from my skin cancer surgeries. And I thought they didn’t look all that bad. Well, they don’t, but worse than I thought. Cataracts lied to me or camouflaged real life vision. Colors burst with brightness and clarity. Distances focus away from blurs to actual images.
Now I see scars, wrinkles. I see my grandmother in my sister’s face. Sometimes I miss the blurry reflection of trees and the red canoe on the lake blown across by mountain breezes. Until waters clear and calm into glassy surface. Clear whether upside down reflections or right side up reality. Cataracts removed as I look at my sister’s face.