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.

Dream your dreams, my child, and I will help you love them into reality

I don’t even know where to begin because there’s just so much I want to say and no words can express what I’m thinking and feeling right now. So forgive this post. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… I am not a writer. My writing is just exactly what I’m thinking with very little editing. Tonight, there will be no editing whatsoever. I am guaranteed to be an emotional wreck when I’m finished. So again, forgive what may be poor writing and look beyond it to the content of the writing.

My momma. What a wonderful amazing woman she was. As a little girl I idolized her. I wanted to wear her make-up and clothes and be as cool as she was. As a teen I struggled with my view of her. Part of me loved that all my friends loved her and part of me resented that she was way cooler to my friends than I was. She just had this light that drew everyone to her. As a woman I miss her, I appreciate her in ways I couldn’t have when I was young.

My mom was so flipping fun. When I was a little girl we were poor. We didn’t really have money to do much and when we did it was often because of someone else’s kindness. My mom worked a couple of jobs and went to college. She still found the time to enjoy the little stuff with my sisters and I though, the stuff that didn’t cost a whole lot of money. We had living room picnics on dreary days for no reason at all. We’d have family movie nights and my mom would make popcorn and homemade milkshakes. We’d go for rides on back roads just to listen to music on the radio and relax. She’d even make the car boogie back and forth when the road was clear.

There are a few memories of my mom and the car that everyone remembers. When my sisters had softball tournaments my mom and I would go (she’d make me go to show my support) and drive behind the school bus. She blast MC Hammer as load as it would go. The girls in the back of the bus could hear it and were dancing right along with us. She always brought those little juice jugs for everyone on the team too. Then when I got a bit older she’d go tooling with my friends. Yep, that’s right, with MY friends. Sometimes I’d go out with my boyfriend or something and come home to find out my friends had called my mom to go tooling with them.

My mom was like that with all our friends. It was something I loved and hated at the same time. My mom worked for a non-profit Juvenile Jail Diversion program. Sometimes I’d bring a new friend by the house and they’d already know each other. At that point I knew I’d never get to hang out with that person again. The friends that made it passed that check point wound up being very close to my mom. They confided in her. They went to her with their hopes, dreams and fears. Many of them even called her to hang out when I wasn’t around. I remember coming home from camp and seeing my best friend pull out of the yard with her mom as I pulled in the driveway. She’d spent the night with my mom watching movies and drooling over David Duchovny in X Files.

One of the great things about everyone liking my mom is that it made it easier for me to stay home. My mom was first diagnosed with cancer when I was 13 and it reappeared when I was 17 years-old. I worried about her, more so the second time when I was old enough to better understand what was happening. We had foster kids staying with us so there were 5 girls, including myself, to look after. I became the second parent, well, I guess I had been for a while. It made me a bit anxious to be too far from home. I felt that I needed to be there in case she needed me. I don’t regret a single missed party either.

Everything that makes me who I am I can attribute to this woman in one way or another. I have learned more from her than any other person in the world, even after her death. She didn’t just give birth to me, she made me.

I learned what it was to be reflective from her which is perhaps one of my strongest traits. She was always very in tune with how she was feeling and how we were feeling. There were so many times when she knew how I was feeling without me even having to utter a word. She could place the reasons behind my feelings, my actions, when even I couldn’t. I remember talking to my stepdaughter about my mom once and she told me that I do the same thing. I didn’t even realize I did it. One of my favorite things about my mom and I got a little bit of it.

I learned what strength and dignity was watching her. In her actions she showed me that you could fall apart sometimes and still be strong. One night when I was a teen I remember hearing my mom crying in her room. I went in to see if she was ok and she confided in me that she was worried she wasn’t doing the right things for us, that she wasn’t meeting all our needs somehow. She was a single mom trying to muddle through on her own. Even though she wasn’t there when I became a parent that moment has helped me so much as a parent. I couldn’t think of a better parent than her and even she questioned herself. Most of the time she was so confident, so sure she was doing the right thing. Battling cancer I saw her cry not for herself, but for us. The next day she’d pull herself back together again show her strength. Mom showed me that strength isn’t always steady, sometimes it’s shaky legs slowly rising to stand again knowing you won’t be able to stay on your feet for long.

I miss my mom. I miss her every single day. I hear her in my voice, see her in my children. How I wish my kids had met my momma. How desperately I want to be a fraction of the mom I had to my children. She would have loved my husband. I feel so cheated that she never met my family, the family I made for myself.

Sometimes when I really need her she’ll come to me in a dream. It’s always in the present. She’s always alive and interacting with my kids, my husband, me. Whatever is bothering me most we’ll talk about and she’ll help me. She tells me she’s proud of me even though I don’t feel like there’s much in me to be proud of. Instead of waking up with an ache in my chest from missing her, I wake with a sense of peace that nothing else can give me.

I have so much more I want to say but the ache that always there is getting a little overwhelming now. So I guess I’ll close with the poem my mom wrote for me. Yeah all of those wonderful things, and she was a poet too.

I miss you, Momma.

Wendy Jean Grass Burns

May 27, 1957 – September 23, 1998

Amiee

Shades of the woman you will become filter through more every day

I see reflections in your eyes – your knowledge grows strong and fast

You amaze me with your quiet courage yet I can feel your fear in the stillness of the night

So many wishes for you

So many dreams

I believe in you; I have faith not only in your destination

But also in your journey

What can I give you that you do not already possess

What can I take from you that you have not already given

No promises between us –they are not needed

Your whole life is a promise

Dream your dreams, my child

And I will help you love them into reality

The frog prince....

There was this boy; this tall, lanky boy with dark hair. I used to play with him by the swings. He always smiled and I liked him. Not in that school-girl crush kind of way, but in the way that always made me smile and feel warm.

As we grew up we didn’t talk as much. We would smile in the hall at school and talk during class here and there. We just never saw each other outside of school really.

I remember when we dissected frogs in Biology. He sat behind me and knew I was completely freaked out. He sliced poor little Kermit’s mouth all the way back as instructed and stuck a dissection pin in his bottom lip. In his best croaky voice he said, “Amiee, kiss me, I’m a prince!” That memory still makes me smile.

After graduation I’d see him at the pizza place on the corner cooking and we’d say hi, but it wasn’t until later that I understood how he saw me. He said he admired mine and my sisters’ bravery. Our mother had passed from cancer the previous fall. He didn’t know that we were all in pieces on the inside and barely holding it together on the outside. He wrote to us in January but it was October before he shared his words. Maybe if he knew, if I’d told him I was falling apart too…

When I was a little girl my Grampy, my dad’s dad, wasn’t around a lot, or at least as much as my mom’s dad. My mom would take us to the grocery store where he was the butcher. He’d show us the lobsters in the tank and we’d squeal watching them climb each other. His wife, my dad’s step-mom, was kind of scary in my young eyes but she had a lot of dolls so that made her ok in my book. I was young, I didn’t understand…

Before I even met him I’d nicknamed him Omega because of his relationship with my college buddies.  He was great. He smiled a lot. I laughed a lot with him. We were more friends by association than anything. Anyone could see how in love my friend, Spoons, was with him. He loved her too. He was struggling though. He was drowning, reaching for help that just couldn’t find him. One day he just couldn’t reach anymore….

 

The tall, lanky boy with the frog, Grampy, Omega…. They all have one thing in common; they’re dead by their own hands. Their futures are now just a bunch of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys.’

Suicide Prevention Week ended on Saturday. It came and went without my acknowledgement; something I won’t accept. This week I will be writing love on my arms for these people, these amazing people, who left us all too soon. I ask that everyone take a moment to remember  the lives lost to suicide, to tell the people you love that you love them and are there if they need you. 

You are missed and will not be forgotten.

Everybody needs a catch phrase

Most famously important people have that word or phrase which they'll forever be known for, even if it was unintentional.
 Lincoln's known for, "Four score and seven years ago..."  
Martin Luther King will be remembered for, "I had a dream!"
Urkel had, "Did I do that?" 
The baby dino from Dinosaurs had, "not the Momma!"
"Is this chicken or fish that I'm eating?" will always make us think of Jessica Simpson.

When I was younger, a teen, I responded to almost anything my sister said with, "so's your face." It didn't even make sense. It didn't even have to be a retort to something mean. She could be asking me to pass the butter and I'd respond with, "so's your face!" It lasted for almost a year and every once in a while I still use it.

This is how The Professor found his catch phrase...

It was one of best friend's birthdays. I was a single mother of two and really wanted to do something special for her. I decided to make her shepherd's pie, her favorite, and this really cool 3-D ducky cake. I made the cake the night before and left it to cool overnight. 

When I checked in the morning it hadn't cooked all the way and had fallen. Awesome. Now I had to drag a 4 year-old and a 2 year-old to the store to pick up more cake stuff. I got home had everyone settled, no eggs. Back to the store. 

I get the cake baked and while I'm waiting for it to cool I start cleaning the horrendous mess my boys made while I was baking. Spilled juice? Check. Crayon on the floor? Check. I start making the shepherd's pie and they start fighting. Referee the WWE preschool edition event? Check. 

I get all the icing on my irresistibly cute ducky cake and ever so carefully put him in the fridge. On the way into the fridge I smear the entire left side of face against the light. Great. Now my cute ducky is a stroke victim. I put on another episode of Thomas the Train and get to work repairing him between snack and juice requests. 

I blow up balloons and hang a Happy Birthday banner in the living room. My friends arrive and can see I'm a little frazzled. I vent about my day a little.

At the time my kitchen was barely more than a cubby hole and I didn't have a table. So everyone settled into the living room to eat, even Mischievous Middle in his high chair. I fed the kids first and got everyone their plates. When I sat down with my own plate I finally started to relax a little. Then it happened.

Mischievous Middle. That kid was just dieing to see me snap. I know it. Those cherub cheeks and precious curls weren't fooling me. He decided he was finished with his food and promptly tossed the entire plate, minus two bites, onto the carpet.

For thirty intense seconds no one spoke. No one breathed. They just looked back and forth between me and Mischievous Middle's broad grin. I was near tears.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EVERYONE!!!" The Professor screamed.

What great comedic timing! I burst out laughing. When everyone else realized that I wasn't going to go all Jason Voorhees on them all they laughed too. It was great.

I've told this story a few times and a few months ago The Professor started using it all the damn time. "Happy birthday, everyone!" at random points during the day gets just plain annoying. I now understand why Mr. Winslow always turned that strange color when Urkel exclaimed, "Did I do that?"

I was so annoyed one day that I asked him why on earth he kept saying it. "It's just funny. It was my first joke. It's my catch phrase now," he said.

What a character.

When the going gets tough...

So one of the pages I love, The Crumb Diaries (her links are at the bottom of this post,) posted a status on facebook that really struck a cord so I thought I'd share it and share my response to her. Here it is:

 

The Crumb Diaries:

With 'Stand up to Cancer' on every channel, and Mary Tyler Mom doing the radiothon today, cancer has kind of been the theme of the day. I've heard a lot of people share their cancer stories.

Many survivors and families have made comments like "cancer picked the wrong person to mess with" or "I wasn't going to stop fighting for my child".." my child is tough as nails"

Ok I GET this. I really, truly do. My mother has gone through 18 yrs of cancer. Double mastectomy. Reconstruction. Tons and tons of chemotherapy. Radiation. Months and months of recovery - and all of the emotional damage that comes along with it.

My younger sister - my only sibling - has been dealing with thyroid cancer for 12 yrs. Surgeries. Radiation. Constant changes in medication. A pregnancy in early diagnosis that she risked her life to carry to term.

I GET that we want to say these things. I wouldn't give up on them. They are fighters....but what does this say to/about families who've lost their fight? They weren't fighting? People gave up on them?

Cancer SUCKS period. Fight/don't fight - circumstances can change an outcome in a heartbeat.

 

DysFUNctionally Blended:

 

 My mother died of cancer when I was only 17. My sisters were 15 and 12. She fought and thought she won, only for cancer to rear its ugly head again a year away from being medically 'cancer free.' That last time, as I snuggled with her in bed, she told me she was tired of fighting and that my sisters and I were the only reason she kept on. I remember the last time I saw her able to somewhat carry a conversation. I told her that it was ok to let go, that my sisters and I would be alright. We wouldn't be alright at all, but that's another story.

The fact is my mother fought with everything she had. She gave cancer quite a struggle to finally lay claim to her body, but it never claimed her spirit. That is what it means to me to say that you're fighting, that you're tough and cancer isn't going to 'get' you. It has little to do with the body and everything to do with the spirit. My mom had her days where she cried and felt sorry for herself, for her children. There were days where cancer won, but even more where my mom triumphed and shined. Those days, the days with smiles and laughter behind tired and weak eyes, those days far outnumber the others.

My mom fought. My mom died. That doesn't mean my mom didn't win. Even in death her spirit was shining through, that's something cancer will never take.

 

 

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