The Irish Twins are 62

In the playpen together (where we probably often were!)

That’s what people called us, and how I continue to refer to us. But that I really think about it, it’s not the most flattering term at all. “Irish twins” are, by definition, born less than one year apart (Mo and I were 11 months apart). The implication is: the Irish propagated like rabbits, often more than one baby in a 12 month span, huge Catholic households with exhausted Ma’s, and Da’s who made very little money to feed all those mouths.

Mom only had three of us, all girls, but all Caesarians, so she was totally overwhelmed nonetheless. When Maureen came along (Mom learned this news at her post-partum checkup after having me; the doctor said “Congratulations!” Don’t think that should have been the word to choose, from my poor mother’s standpoint), Mo had what used to be called “colic.” That meant she cried pretty much nonstop for months—meanwhile, I was just learning to walk, and not yet talking much (impossible to believe, I know). Joanie was so exhausted that one day, she dropped and shattered a glass bottle of milk she’d taken from the refrigerator and just stood there, sobbing. 

Finally, Grandma Berrigan took pity, and I was sent up to Larchmont to live with her and Grandpa for a month, so Mom could get back on her feet. Where was MY “Da” at this time? After work, his habit was to head to the nearest bar with his cronies for a few drinks (the witching hour, around 6 PM, when both of us little ones could be counted on to melt down). So he wasn’t much help.

Over the years, we came to enjoy being so close in age, sharing clothes and toys, and only one grade apart in school. We loved the month between November 23-December 22, when we were, in fact, both 5, or 9, or 12.

On December 22, 1981, I turned 25 alone, and ever since this month has been difficult, knowing my “twin” is gone. Now, so many years later, November 23^rd has become a sweetly sad day, instead of the terribly painful one it was at first. And, for the past 30 years, I’ve had reason to be glad as well, the three decades I’ve been friends with Mary Ellen Myers. You see, it’s her birthday too. It helps me realize that every day has reasons to be joyful, even though it’s hard to feel it in the dark times.

So yesterday, I bought tickets for a play in the city for Mary Ellen and me (we now exchange experiences together rather than physical birthday gifts). We’ll go out after Thanksgiving, and it should be a fun night. And, very soon, I will turn 63, another digit my sis won’t see. But at this point, I believe our reunion will be sooner rather than later, in a place where numbers won’t matter, ever again.

Here’s to November 23^rd, to my Irish twin, and to my dear friend. Happy birthday, girls.

The other birthday girl (with her son, Tim), on Sher and Yaj's wedding day