So in my last personal post, I talked about my dad. And the fact he’s dead. I also talked some about my pregnant sister, who is dealing with this.
That sister does not speak to me. It is petty grievances and grudges, and for years our relationship (if you could call it that) has always been difficult. Now, it no longer exists. To the point I have been blocked from her Facebook for months now. That particular consequence results from an event when I was 22-23 years old. I spent 6 months in Florida living with my dad. I stole a book. Mind you, 22-23 year old me was a mess. I was a bit of a drinker at the time, not a good combo to dealing with severe depression aggravated by the stress of not being able to find or even get to work. This particular incident is that when I left, I took a book with me. A baby name book. A book belonging to my sister. Here’s the rub – I legitimately thought that she knew I had the book, as she had seen me using it frequently while I lived at my dad’s house. I used it when I wrote short stories and fanfics, to cope with my depression when I couldn’t get any rum or tequila from my few friends I had been in contact with. I was a fucked up mess, to be honest. I make no excuses for the person I was then. I made bad decisions, bad life choices, and have to suffer the consequences for those decisions and choices. Me from back then was a fucking shit head who deserves what she got. Unfortunately, there’s this thing that happens when people make mistakes in their lives. They either continue down that path, or they learn from their mistakes and change their ways. While the former certainly would have been easier, I chose the latter.
Now, 5-6 years later, married, with a kid, and actually very stable (the complete opposite of what I had been at 22-23) I mention jokingly that I “stole” the book (again, I legitimately thought she knew I had the book this entire time, and I had legitimately believed it was okay with her that I did have it) I am the scum of the earth and am not welcome in her home. I am not welcome in her life at all, because I am a thieving crazy bitch. I am not to contact her directly nor through any other means.
I have offered to send the book back to her, if only I had an address to send it to. It does have minor notations in the margins that I can go over with white-out, but other than that it is in the same shape as 5-6 years ago. I have attempted to try to get an address to send it to, and have asked in what other way may I make amends. No responses other than blocked on Facebook.
Well, since I cannot contact her via Facebook message, and I know she ignores then deletes any other attempt to contact her, I approached her mother-in-law (who is a very kindhearted woman, and I do appreciate her passing my message along to my sister, knowing she probably caught a lot of flack for it) because I did not feel comfortable trying to contact my sister’s husband. I have tried that route before, and was told to basically fuck off.
Last night, I simply asked that a message be given to my sister. That I was available if she needed me. I couldn’t come to Florida, but if she ever needed an ear, or even just needed someone to scream at, I’m here. I’ve been pregnant and dealing with grief. I’ve been pregnant, near the end of pregnancy where any little thing can put you into labor, and dealing with death related grief. So for once, I actually DO KNOW AND UNDERSTAND EXACTLY what she’s dealing with. And again, if she ever needs me, I’m here. (screencaps at end of post. names and personal info edited out.)
The message was passed along. I received a text immediately after she got it. (Photos of my phone. Names and personal info edited out.)
I know, given the morality of posting private phone message conversations and all that, but honestly? Through all the pettiness, I’ve never been allowed even once to defend myself and face my accuser. Before I had the opportunity, I was cut off completely like a dead limb. Talking with hubby about all of this through the months, and even now, we both think that BOTH my sisters (mind you, this does NOT include the one I just kicked out of my home last week) had simply just been searching for a reason to break ties with me. Despite my past mistakes (which mind you were rather self contained to myself and my own self destruction) I have attempted time and again to make amends with them both. But after last night, and facing the reality of mortality and life in general, I come to the realization that the only people, the only FAMILY I have left are the ones I made for myself. My mum, my hubby, and my kid. My hubby’s family, too. The family I chose rather than the family I was given. Of my biological family of childhood, the only one I have left is my mum. Of my siblings, the only one who actually ever truly cared about me is dead.
One day, when my mom is gone, I’ll only have my husband and my son. That’s it. I am utterly alone. All because 2 grown women cannot, and will not, put petty grievances aside even in the face of a family tragedy. But you’d better believe that one day, the day I dread almost as much as something ever happening to my son, when my mom does pass on they’ll have to deal with me. They’ll do everything in their power to ensure I’ve got nothing. Because to them, I’ll always be that 22-23 year old fuck up. It doesn’t matter that I got help for my problems. It doesn’t matter that I stopped drinking. It doesn’t matter to them that I’ve reformed and have changed my life for the better.
So when that day comes, I know they’ll come running shouting about how much they loved their momma. How much family is important to them. With their crocodile tears. One of them will make it all about herself as she tries to “do what’s best for the family” because she’s the oldest responsible one. The youngest will show up because she’ll feel obligated, but will make it very obvious how difficult it was to get time off work for both her and her husband, and how the kids are missing school, and how terrible a drive it was, and how because they don’t feel welcome in my home they had to get a motel, and it’s a terrible motel of course. My mother’s sister will show her face along with my cousins. Her brother might show up. And I’ll be surrounded by all these people, last will and testament in hand, pissing all of them off because I planned ahead. We planned ahead, knowing the circus of the buzzards will descend upon me.
When that day comes, I will be the bigger person, and I will put aside my petty grievances. I will put aside the bullshit and personal problems. I will not turn them away, because it’s their right to be involved. To express their sympathies. Unfortunately, I am afraid to say, in the face of death and mortality, they appear to not be able to do the same.
There’s a time and a place for bullshit, I learned long ago. The death of a family member is neither the time, nor the place for petty grievances. Throughout all of this, I still ask for prayers for my baby sister and her children and her family. Because I do understand. And I am worried. That will never change.
But now, I can only love and care from a distance, as I have done for so long now. One day, maybe in the next life, I’ll find out exactly what it was that made my older sister hate me so, and caused my younger one to follow suit. Until then, I can only hope and pray that they both have good and happy lives filled with love. That their needs are always met. And that they live long lives of peace and prosperity. If they ever change their minds (I doubt it, but then again miracles sometimes happen), my door is always open, my inbox is always valid, and my phone is always in service. They know where to find me and how to reach me.
Convo with baby sister’s mother-in-law last night/this morning. Names and personal info edited out.