The girl I used to know...

I know that I probably shouldn't be writing this. Why? It's not just my business, it's more my sister's story than mine. I've been wrestling with this for months. Most don't understand where I'm coming from and certainly not those closest to her, to us. She has never shied from sharing her story, even when it's completely inappropriate to. Ultimately I decided to write this out; my thoughts, my heartbreak, my grief, my pain. If nothing else, I'm hoping this will help me process everything even if I can't properly articulate all of it.

For the sake of preserving at least a little bit of anonymity I'm going to refer to my youngest sister as Nikki and our middle sister as Suzie. 

When Nikki was little she was so kind, so compassionate and sensitive. She was the first to cry for a wounded creature and was always looking for ways to make the world a better place. Idealistic, maybe, but we all adored that about her. 

Our mom died at a pretty critical age for all of us. I was 17, Suzie was 15 and Nikki was just 12. Nikki was still crawling into bed with Mom sometimes when she passed. 

Our dad made the best decision he could for us and chose to keep us in the same town were we'd grown up rather than take us from the only home we'd ever known to live with him in another state. This meant we all went to different 'foster' homes, not in the system, but not family really either. Nikki made out the best of us. She got wonderful loving people with grown children who were very dedicated to her.

I had always had a parental relationship with her. I wound up being the second parent more than the big sister in our single-parent home. I was still their big sister but there's a duality to our relationship that is difficult to put into words.

This started to change when she went to live with the Fields. They became her parental figures, later on even adopting her. It made it difficult for us to figure out who we were to each other then. I got married and had children looking to, needing to, fill the whole left when I stopped being the second parent in my family. 

Nikki is one of those people who pretends to like kids, but most of the time they're more a photo-op and a funny phrase to her. While she talks about loving my kids, I hear her screaming for someone to shut their crying up and to get the boys out of her way.

Maybe I'm giving too much background. Maybe I'm just looking for an answer that isn't there. I want to know when  she changed, when she stopped being the girl of infinite kindness. Maybe she never existed and I've idealized her.

When Nikki went to college, that's when things really started to go downhill. She's always been really self-involved but it became even more apparent when she wasn't around to know what was going on and never really cared to ask. She'd started cutting before college, but I think the drugs came later. I don't know, I don't think I want to know anymore.

Our relationship has been a push and pull our entire adult lives. We've never had common ground. If she'd been anyone else, I'd have given up on her long ago.

She just changed. She's been in and out of drugs, in and out of therapy. Nikki's been evaluated and diagnosed and had those diagnosis questioned. She says she wants to get better, and everyone wants so desperately to believe her, to believe in her.

Nikki's the most self-damaging person I've ever known and it's broken my heart. I've  watched her fall and tried to help her back up even when she didn't take my hand. I've tried to give her space and watched the void build between us when she didn't care to reach across the distance. I've called when she wouldn't take my calls, anyone's calls. I've watched her pick herself up, dust herself off and rebuild only to destroy every progress she's made with her own hands.

I've said my share of unkind things to my sister. Nikki's hurt me more deeply than she will ever know. Not just in watching her descent into mental illness and addiction, but in the outright cruel things she's said. If you say anything to her about her life, even in kindness, it's viewed as condemning and judgmental, no matter who you are.
 
It's exhausting and draining to be a part of all this. It's unbelievably painful to worry about when it's going to be too much, when the cut's going to be too deep, when she's on meds or off meds because she's decided she's better again, when she's going to inhale just a little too much. To have her pushing you away and being verbally abusive never to apologize but to expect you to work your way back into her good graces before she needs you again only to discard you when it suits her.

In May I reached a breaking point. This built for months and months. I realized that the little girl I used to color with, the one I taught to skate, the awkward girl who used to jump along with Super Mario, didn't grow up... she died. Somewhere, somehow along the way that girl died. The Nikki I remember, the Nikki I loved ceased to exist somewhere along the way and she's never coming back. The person walking around today is not my sister, she's not the girl I used to love. So I let her go.

Letting her go was painful. Months of grieving for her preceded it. We argued and I finally just said enough, I don't know who you are and I don't think I want to know this person. 

I've gotten so much grief for this, mainly because of my kids. I don't want her around them. She has always been ok around them but I just think it's best for them to not be exposed to the drama she brings. They've been blissfully unaware but am I supposed to wait until something happens? I'm not going to take that chance. Suzie says Nikki's mainly hurt by not being part of the kids lives, but I think it's the idea of it, not the actuality of it that bothers her. She's never really been a part of their lives, just a yearly visit and even then she didn't really bother with them other than to say they were cute or a pain. 

I think Suzie's angrier about this than anyone. I'm pretty sure my dad thinks it's a fight that will blow over. I think Suzie's angry because she doesn't want to be responsible for Nikki on her own and she feels like I've abandoned her there. She doesn't have me to buffer things with Nikki when she's out of control anymore. The majority has always fallen to Suzie because as the years have passed Niki and I have grown further apart where Nikki and Suzie's relationship has stayed the same. Now Suzie has all of it. I feel bad for that but I can't keep myself in that position because Suzie can't stop being Nikki's crutch. 

With the holidays approaching this has been on my mind even more. I'm not going to bow out of family functions because Nikki's there. I won't put my family in that position. It isn't fair to them. At the same time, I don't want to see her, ever. It's just too hard, too painful. I'm not angry, I'm just grieving for someone who isn't here anymore.

There it isn't pretty, but life never is. I can safely say this is one of the hardest things I've ever done but I don't question my decision either. 

I love you...and you...and you? Not so much.

I’ve seen a lot of articles and blogs in the last week or so about parental favorites; one or both parents loving a child more than the others. It’s really stuck with me all week. It’s also made me re-evaluate my parenting and my parents’ parenting.

In one article the author wrote that she grew up with a fundamental knowledge that parents do not have favorites and they loved each child just the same. That is not how I grew up. Bear in my mind when I’m talking about this I’m talking about my mom, who I lived with, not my dad. My mother always told us that she loved us all in different ways and that was quite apparent.

My mother saw each of us as individuals and encouraged that individuality. As different people we needed and were loved differently, individually. No one was loved more, no one was loved less.

My mother looked at my youngest sister as someone with an infinite curiosity, a love for all things living, an innocence that needed to be protected. She saw my middle sister as person with a light no one could dim, a person who glowed, a person who just needed someone to stoke the fire. I think she saw me as someone with a brave face and a cracked spirit, someone who found joy in caring for others, someone who needed a little bit of comfort but just enough to stand on their own.

At least that’s how I think she saw us. In her writing, in my memories of her, that’s always how she described us. She fiercely protected my youngest sister, cheered my middle sister on, and let me take on maternal responsibilities when she couldn’t while mothering me when I needed it. An education instructor once told me that, ‘fair doesn’t mean everyone gets the same thing, it means everyone gets their needs met.’ That’s the way my mother parented.

My dad, on the other hand, has a clear favorite; my middle sister. He still tries to deny it but even she’s stopped trying. I think he just relates to her more somehow. I wonder if I remind him too much of mom or something. I guess it doesn’t matter, it boils down to me feeling like I’m an eternal failure in his eyes. That may not be how he feels, but that’s the way he makes me feel. With my youngest sister I think he just doesn’t know her well enough. My parents split while my mom was pregnant and their whole relationship as she’s grown has been push and pull. It’s complicated now that she’s an adult but he pushes for and she still resists some. Anyway, this isn’t supposed to be about my dad (who I love dearly,) it’s about favorites.

With my kids I can pretty easily say that there isn’t a favorite, I love them all differently. I’ve been accused of having favorites though. Let me tell you what it came from a source I respect greatly and it stung. I cried and cried and to be honest I’m close to crying again just thinking about it. Maybe that’s why these blogs and articles felt close to home for me.

The Professor. He’s my companion. We’ve been through so much together. Throughout everything with his dad it was he and I. I see so much of myself as a kid in him. Some of it’s the awkwardness; some of it’s the emotional turmoil I see in him. I remember struggling with some of the things he struggles with and it was frigging hard. It sucks to be young and feel all these things you have no words for. I channeled my emotions differently, but I still remember how they felt. Maybe that’s what I see in him more than the others, a kindred spirit.

Mischievous Middle. He’s my boy, my rough-and-tumble boy. My adventurer. We’ve also been through a lot together but he’s always been the one to make things into a drama, sometimes a wonderful one, sometimes a difficult one. I love his sense of adventure, his bravery, his conquering spirit! It inspires me so much. He has this twinkle in his eye when he’s up to something and in that twinkle I see my mother, the practical joker.

Little Mother. She is confidence with painted nails. She’s just so sure of herself but looks to me for reassurance at the same time. She’s just so sure of herself. She questions everything around her, but never herself. She’s so very independent even though she still wants and needs a great deal from me. I can’t wait to see who she becomes.

The Babe. My sweet, sweet baby. She’s so calm and relaxed. Such a happy little girl. Oh how she loves to cuddle! She’s a warm, happy, quiet place on a dreary day. Her personality is still developing, still growing and I love watching her blossom.

StepN. She’s one of my best friends. Since she’s an adult, I can talk to her in ways that I can’t talk to the other kids. I wouldn’t say that I know her better than anyone else, because I know that isn’t true. I think I get her more than other people do and I feel like she gets me. I love her determination. I understand the struggle she goes through between feeling like she’s not good enough and feeling like she needs to prove that she’s worth so much more than others think. I love her so much. There’s this unspoken bond between us that’s been made with a lot of tears, a lot of hurt feelings, a lot of love. I can’t put our relationship in to words.

To be honest, I don’t think I’ve done my feelings for any of my kids justice here. There’s just so much that can’t be put into words and so much that if I tried to put it into words I’d never stop writing.

You can judge me if you want but it won’t change anything. I’d rather paint with Mischievous Middle or Little Mother over The Professor any day. He doesn’t care; he’d rather not paint because he hates it. I’d rather play games with The Professor or StepN. Mischievous gets bored if he can’t get the rules right off and Little Mother just wants to make up her own rules. If I need a cuddle I’m looking for The Babe or Little Mother. The other kids just don’t fit into my lap as well. I may have more current stories and pictures of Little Mother and The Babe than I do of the boys but it’s because of their age. They’re still doing and saying all sorts of cute things and don’t pose the second the camera comes out. It was the same for the boys when they were younger; they’ve just passed the ‘Kids Say the Darndest Things’ age. It’s not a matter of love.

They’re all individuals and my love for them is as individual as they are. No two kids are the same and so naturally we love them differently. It doesn’t make us bad parents. It doesn’t make our children less loved or more loved than their siblings.