Sisters…

I’m sitting here, a little off, not quite sad, but… well, kinda reminiscing, missing certain things from the past.  There’s a word I’m looking for, and I can’t grab it, lol.  It’s on the tip of my tongue, edge of my brain, whatever.  It’s right there.  Nostalgic.  That’s the word for what I’ve been feeling.

A few years ago, I had sisters.  3 of them.  I had a brother too, but him, I still have.  Though there’s SO many days I almost wish I didn’t, lol.  I don’t have friends in my life right now.  And I don’t have my sisters.  I didn’t lose them all at once, it was one at a time.

The first, my half sister that I raised as a baby, a toddler, a child.  She’s not even 10 years older than my oldest son.  She is the perfect princess.  We got along so well, we were the best of friends, until she hit her early twenties and met her (now) husband.  That’s when she became so judgmental it was ridiculous.  She lived the perfect life.  The first of us to graduate high school (me and my brother got our GED’s).  Then came the perfect courtship.  The perfect wedding that I was only invited to in order to please my mother.  The little girl I raised left me out of her wedding party.  And still, she judges everything I do.  After her perfect wedding came buying the perfect house, and a pregnancy.  That ended in tragedy, which somehow made her MORE holier-than-thou.  Then the perfect one had a perfect daughter.  And still, she judges me.  I’ve never seen or met my niece.  I loved that girl with all I had in me.  I taught her to drive.  I taught her to love music.  I took her to concerts.  We share memories, both wonderful and horrible.  And for some reason, she hates me.  She’s the reason we were violated by our probation officer – she turned us in for a decision we made, a decision that was made to help us stay clean.  She turned us in, almost guaranteeing that we’ll both be going back to jail.  And still?  Part of me loves her.  Granted, a larger part of me hates her.  But mostly?  I’m hurt.  I feel betrayed and wounded.

Then, there’s the second.  Not a sister by blood.  She’s the younger sister of my ex-husband.  I kept her in the split, lol… Her too – I took care of her as a young child, 5 and 6 years old.  I held her as she cried when her dad died when she was 6.  And then she moved away… and I missed her like crazy.  At about 11, she started coming to spend summers with me and my ex.  She became my mini-me.  I got her counseling when she was raped.  I was the only person she talked to about it.  I cried with her.  When her mom sent her up to visit at 15 and said she didn’t want her back, I started legal proceedings to keep her.  When it came time for college, she wanted to go to college near me.  So we did the college tours, the applications, the fees, the forms, all of it, her and I.  And she got in to her first choice.  And I made sure her fees were paid.  We shopped for (and I bought) everything for her dorm room.  I was so proud of her.  She was only 15 miles away, I saw her 2-3 times a week, plus her coming home on weekends.  Everyone called us a lesbian couple without the sex… the closeness was unbelievable.  We were best friends.  Her boyfriend moved up, she moved out of the dorm and in with him, and things changed a little, but not much.  It was still her and I.  We were planning her wedding, for years.  I made a decision or two that she didn’t approve of, and all of a sudden, she wanted nothing to do with me.  She didn’t approve of my lifestyle.  She was planning her wedding, on her own now, without me.  Back “home”.  I didn’t even get to see my baby girl, my little sister, get married.  I was in jail when she got married – but it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket there, and she knew that.  I was supposed to be her maid of honor.  I miss her, too.  I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m sad.  Now, her and the first (whom she hated for judging me so harshly, for being so cruel to me) have become friends.  And they sit and judge me together.

But then there’s the third.  And that’s the one that finally made the tears spill over, stream down my face.  Shit, I wasn’t gonna cry writing this.  I swore I wasn’t going to.  But her?  My Bob?  That one I don’t understand.  That one  breaks my heart in two.  My half sister, the only one I still consider my sister.  She’s just about a year older than my older son, it’s a bit of a strange relationship, I guess.  But God, she gets me.  She always has.  She’s about 14 years younger than I am, but that’s never mattered.  Her life is hard – so hard I hate to see her have to live through it.  We didn’t need words sometimes.  I could be at the end of a 30 hour shift, trying to type to her in Google Talk – I would look back and have NO clue what I was trying to say, the typos were so intense, nothing made sense – but I could call her and ask her WTF were we talking about… and she could tell me.  She knew about our addiction – I don’t know if she knew how bad it was, but she knew about it.  She has plenty of her own issues – we’d both talked through them so many times, hers and mine.  They call her a cold hearted bitch, just like they do to me.  They don’t understand that we hold it in because we have to – we have to be strong until it’s safe to break.  And it’s not safe to break in front of most people, especially not our family.  She has the same father issues I have, and some of the same mother issues.  She’s my Bob.  We could sit and talk or type or chat for hours.  We could laugh at anything and everything and nothing.  We held each other up.  She was the ONLY person in my family who knew of (and read) both of my previous blogs.  And with her?  I don’t know what happened.  I don’t understand why she gave up on me.  I miss her so much more than the others – they judge her just as they do me, they shun her as they do me.  It was just her and I left out of the four.  I wrote to her when I was in jail – I never heard back.  I emailed her a few weeks ago, and got no response.  I just want my Bob back.  I’ve lost so much – and losing her is probably the worst.  I don’t care about the material things, and to be honest, most of the people that I lost – well, they showed their true colors when they turned their backs on me when I needed them most.  I just wish I could understand why she gave up on me.  I know I fucked up – everyone knows I fucked up.  But don’t I deserve a second chance?  Don’t people deserve a second chance?  Why aren’t I important enough to get that from her?  I thought I mattered enough to her that she could see past my screw up, that she could support me in my struggles to better my life, better myself.  I believed she would stand by my side no matter what.  And it hurts like hell that she’s not here with me.  That I’m going to press publish on this post, and she’s not going to read it.  Because Bob has always been my first reader, my critic, my best friend.  I miss her like crazy.  And I don’t know how to, or even if I can, get her back.  We didn’t have much of a Christmas this year.  We bought for our boys, a little something for my brother (because we take care of him, no matter how bad he screws up – we don’t give up completely on him – though he’s on our shit list right now), and did little stocking stuffers for each other on “Little Christmas” (Jan 6th).  But I bought a little something for Bob – cheap, but in keeping with tradition.  I just wish I knew how to get her back.

So… there were 4 of us, then 3, then 2… and now it’s just me.  Guess that matching sister tattoo we’ve been planning  isn’t gonna happen.  We had tshirts made every Christmas for awhile – custom ones, with a saying, a lyric, a memory, something, along with our names and the year.  I have one hanging in my closet, and instead of making me smile like it did when we bought it, it brings tears to my eyes.

“…and held tight to a promise, only sisters understand…”              

 Bon Jovi~Blood on Blood

“…well if you could see inside my heart, then you would understand… I never meant to hurt you, baby I’m not that kind of man…”                

Bon Jovi~I’d Die For You

Bonnie

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Posted on January 22, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I get this. It hurts when family cuts you off without explanation. My mom did that to us for 2 years. She only recently came back and that bridge is hard to repair.

    Sorry you’re going through this hun.

    • Thanks, sweetie… it does hurt. But I’ve decided that this last one is too important to me to just accept. I’m making one more gesture, reaching out one more time (in a big way, not a quick email), because I can’t just let her go like that. Of the three, well, she’s the one I need the most. I’m glad you’re working on repairing that bridge with your mom, I know how deeply that wounded you, how important it is to you.

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