The third such visit

My home, as so often has been the case lately, became the focus for tenderising the bruised heart and soul of a younger sister caught up in the breakdown of her relationship. All this week, the kettle has boiled, the fags have been lit, and the tears have flowed from younger, more raw versions of myself as they expend their heartache at my home.
They say things happen in threes, and three times three sisters have appeared out of their upended worlds to seek comfort and solace in an older, wiser (?) me.
In the case of last night's visitor, my own response is always tempered by the fact that I feel an especial bond with her, as I was there when she was born. She was born at a time of such heartbreak for our mother, and such stoical readjusting to life on my part. I will always remember the joy of beholding her little face as she was placed in my arms first - she was just so exquisite and beautiful! All the pain and anguish that our mother has experienced in the 6 months or so since my father had left, went. At least it went in that moment. Of course, it came back many times after that and in fact it still comes back to stalk our sisterly conversations, even in the midst of supposed heartbreak. It is always there, this feeling. Just below the surface. I share it with my three bereft sisters, who have all had their romantic wobbles in this week. It is common to all my siblings (and there are many of us), and so the conversations loop back and forth between us all, exploring and exploiting the same theme: loss, adjustment, hope.