So, as I ponder the subject of today's blog, I'm getting more and more irritated. Is irritated the word?? No. Angry. Resentful. Sad. Today is the third anniversary of my oldest sister's passing. And with that come all these emotions that I've claimed to have dealt with but haven't even come close. And I've decided this posting can go one of two directions. It can be a hateful release on the person I've placed the blame on for losing my sister so early. Or, it can be a very mournful celebration of the wonderful, strong woman she was in all of her short years. I'm really, really going to try for the latter.
My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.
The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.
They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.
My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.
But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.
And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.
We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.
They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.
But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."
I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.
For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.
So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.
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