I’m going to be honest here, and that’s easy because I’m pretty sure nobody will read this and I need to let some things out. My shit is safe here.

I accepted today that I have lost the sister I’ve known all my life.  She’s still here physically, but the girl I grew up with, the younger kid sister, my devoted follower, is gone.  She’s not coming back.  There.  I said it.  She’s not coming back. Fuck you bad doctors, fuck you bad health care, and fuck you life,  but she isn’t coming back. I have no words to describe the grief.

Background:  We lived a shit life.  We were the poor family that everyone felt sorry for, but we were dirty so those generous souls also kept their distance.  I remember my mother’s shocked embarrassment at Thanksgiving when she’d receive a basket full of food from the do-good pitiers.  Her dismay was palpable–Through her grudging acceptance, I could feel  her white hot anger.  But hey, every Thanksgiving we had enough food.  What’s a little anger when you have turkey and all the trimmings?

My sister is five years younger.  When she was little I thought she was the cutest damn thing.  She had blonde straight hair (in contrast to my dark curly crap in the 70’s) and two (count them!) two blue eyes that matched. (another story.)

How cute is this kid?

And she adored me. I was the big sister. I shared my dreams with her. Fantasies of boys who liked me, of being rich, of being somebody who, simply put, wasn’t the object of  all that pity.  God how I hated that mother fucking, esteem sucking pity. My sister was my biggest fan; hell, she was my only fan.

I’m not sure she ever believed my stories.  She shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter.  We shared hope.  We were going to survive the ugliest childhood and become “NORMAL” like others.

Long story short:  I made it.  She didn’t.  Too much pedophilia tossed in with a lot of physical abuse, and of course the emotional horseshit that came along for the ride.  Topping off the crap, our mom died when my sister was 16.  She needed her mom at 16, all teen girls need their moms.  My sister never had a chance.

Fast forward a zillion years:  I’m doing well.  I admit that I’ve had some lucky ass breaks, breaks that have saved me.  Oh crap, I do realize how dramatic that sounds, but fuck it,  you didn’t live it, you weren’t there.  Trust me.

I have a good job.  I have a wonderful spouse.  I have the best kids in the world. I have everything.  I am happy on purpose.

My sister has so much as well:  Anxiety. Panic Disorder. Depression.  So many physical problems.  The past year has brought her a failed serious back surgery that causes her constant pain, two–maybe three strokes that have left her with enough damage to her brain that she can no longer control her emotions.  She needs constant help, not as much supervision now, but constant help.  Her daughter has not only stepped up to the plate, she filled the plate, washed the plate and put the plate back into the cupboard.  Every day.  Every single fucking day.

My sister has much improved since I started this piece.  She will never be right, but she’s improved.

It’s not fair.  Fucking life.  It’s not fair and I want to kick whoever it was that said it would be fair right in the ass.  Realizing now of course that nobody actually ever told me that life was fair.