November getaway

Went to Florida with John's sisters this past weekend for a little getaway.
Here is the view from the deck (uploaded from my Blackberry):

It was a little cold for November, so the beach was practically deserted. I like it that way!

It was a nice weekend, and I appreciated so much the chance to spend some time away with them. They have been so good to me, and honestly, they both treat me like I'm their real sister, not a sister-in-law.


It's been eleven years since I lost my real sister. It doesn't seem that long ago. She was in my dream recently; the first time I've dreamed of her since her accident. Some people think that when you dream of a loved one that has passed away, they are speaking to you.


I've thought and thought about that dream, but can't figure out what Linda was trying to say, if indeed she was speaking to me. Maybe she just wanted to say hello? In the dream, I was at a large party. I was young -- college age, I think. She was at the party, too, and came over to introduce me to her friend. The friend said, " Wow, you two look nothing alike! Your sister is so much bigger than you!"


This was always a joke between us. My sister (and my brother, too) was a little thing, tiny and petite. She wore size 0 jeans and she may have been 5 feet on tiptoe. I, on the other hand, am not tiny nor petite. She was small, dark skinned, and had poker-straight brown hair, and not a freckle on her skin. Again, so opposite of me! She used to introduce me as her "little" sister -- looking up at me, the height difference laughable...and people would get a kick out of the irony.


As I get older, I find that life is full of little ironies. After I lost both of my siblings, I was always comforted by the fact that I did have a far away half-sister that I never knew. I always dreamed of one day connecting with her on some level. Another lesson here to do the things you want to do -- you know, don't put off until tomorrow....


Kim was born when I was 11 or 12. My dad had moved to Texas and remarried a woman that I'll just say wore the "wicked step-mother" title with pride. Anwyay, I met Kim, my half-sister, when she was an infant, but never saw her after that. Things got complicated.


Early this year, I decided to reach out to her. I knew she was recently divorced and living with my Dad on his farm, in a little guest house on the property. I kept thinking about contacting her, but never did anything more than that.


On a Saturday in May (in a very cruel twist of fate or irony, or something deeper that I can't figure out), she was killed in a car accident on her way to her job at a veterinary hospital. My dad was devastated. The event freaked me out on so many levels. My dad has lost three of his four children -- one to cancer at age 40, and two to car accidents at ages 40 and 37. How does this happen?


When my brother Allen died, and then my sister Linda, I stuffed so many emotions and feelings about life and loss...I've blogged about that before. I know it's the worst possible thing you can do. But losing them and then my mom in such close succession just made that necessary.


But the funny thing is, now I'm grieving hard for Kim, this sister that I didn't even know. I am grieving the loss of what could have been and I am finally grieving my brother and my other sister -- because finally now, I realize there is nobody left for me to have that special connection with. I think that is what I am grieving.


Ah. Life is complicated and mysterious, and seems so unfair. But without the ironies and the hurts, there can be no joy and happiness. I know that is true.


That is why this trip to Florida with John's sisters was so nice. I miss my real sister and the other sister I never knew. But I'm happy to have these two sisters, too.

On being an inspiration

My next door neighbor and I are good friends.

Anne and I are surrogate sisters, I guess. She lost her youngest sister to suicide nearly a year ago, and I lost my only sister eight years ago to a car accident. So, even though we are very different (my sister and I were opposites in just about every way, too) and we don't spend a lot of time together, there's an underlying understanding that we care about each other and we'll always be there for each other.

The months of the past year have been awful for Anne. She's struggling with her sister's death, trying to cope with the complicated combination of grief, pain and anger. She's swimming in a sea of thick, suffocating mud. Some days seem utterly impossible.

I know how she feels. I know what it's like to wake up and just want to go back to sleep forever. I know what it's like to want to scream at anyone who will listen. I know what it's like to walk through Kroger with unexpected tears streaming down your face just because you caught a glimpse of your sister's favorite cereal.

I know that living with heartache really does mean that sometimes your heart aches.

Anne is very public about her grief and how she's struggling, and I think that's very good. She talks to me. She talks to her husband. She talks to her counselor, other neighbors, her children. And I have to think that every tear that is shed, every memory uttered, brings her closer to
learning to live healthily and happily in a redefined world. A world without her sister.

I'm not/wasn't so open about my grief. Somewhere along the line -- before my sister died, and even before my brother died, I learned to cope with life's sorrows by swallowing them deep down and burying them. It was all I could do, really. It was the only way I knew to get myself up out of the corner where I huddled and be a wife and mother and daughter and friend.

And people just seemed to like the fact that I was doing so well accepting the tragedies I'd faced -- and with such courage and grace.

It was just easier for me that way.

Which makes me feel just a little bit uncomfortable when Anne tells me and others that on her darkest days, I am her inspiration. When she says that, I want to confess that I shouldn't be her inspiration because I haven't ever really dealt with the losses I've faced. My sister and brother died just two years apart and then my mom died right after that too; there just was
no way to deal with it all, so I stuffed it away.

But I don't tell Anne that because I want to be strong for her. She needs me to be strong. I'll do anything for her and I'll be anything she needs me to be. My friend - my surrogate sister - needs to get through these dark days and I'm going to be there for her.

And if she needs me to be her inspiration, then by God, I will.

I realize that the ball of hurt and anger I've swallowed can't stay inside forever. My friend Gordon wrote about swallowing grief in one of my favorite essays, ever.

I'll paraphrase, but it goes something like this:

There, in the pit of your stomach, grief becomes an emotional bezoar, knotted and tortured and matted with undigested sorrow. But grief will not be denied. Sorrow will not go away but will remain in your belly, a tumor that no doctor can feel.

And someday you will have to cough that fucker up.

And when that happens for me, Anne will know it. Maybe by then she will be in a place where she can help me wade through that sea of suffocating mud, and help me learn to live healthily and happily in a redefined world.

Maybe, just maybe, Anne will be my inspiration.

After all, that's what sisters are for.

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