And so I hide my truth, my do-over family's truth. I stuff down the anger over incidents past and try with the greatest difficulty to reach for that bite of forgiveness. It's time to let go, to forget. But like a rapid dog's teeth clamped onto my shoulder bone, the remembering, the reasons I dislike this sister remain.
When I have made myself vulnerable – sent books, shared my writing or written personal e-mails, I have received silence in response. When our mother died, we were able to reach across the divide and bring ourselves closer together. I thought we had made it, returned to each other as the younger, intimate sisters we once were. A few phone calls later comes the humming of a steady, dull, dial tone instead of words. One birthday call a year; only calls with a rational purpose other than connection.
The desire for connection was voiced on her end, but the actions fell flat. Several summers in a row, she said she was coming for a visit. Several summers in a row, I planned and spruced. Last minute caving, excuses on her part...no money for air fair...giving the free ticket to her son. And so I felt unworthy of her money, unworthy of her time. But she's coming now. Coming with the added bonus of one of her former Tucson home-tutored students and his family living nearby. I am trying to understand. I love my students; I easily bond with them and their families. I understand. But this sudden ability to easily buy the air fair; this sudden ability to take a bus from Portland to here because we decided to simplify the visit by putting ourselves up in Portland, does give me pause.
I succumb to archaic patterns of low esteem. Haven't I created a rich life apart from my upbringing? Apart from the fatherly rage and criticism, the motherly neglect and the hiding of our dysfunction to the outside world? Apart from the siblings who rallied together and then separated without sharing our true stories? Our everything's fine smiles are plastered across our faces now. We don't really want to know who we are. I am the odd, reflective, talkative one who doesn't live as materially rich or who lives an alternative life style...alternative only because we haven't hopped on the band wagon of America's cultural norm of status and achievement.
Since my sister's visit announcement and since reading the latest blog post on “Courage to Create” which suggested we experience a “blessings week,” I have been driving to and from my students thinking about how my family is a blessing. With my current, do-over family, the blessing rating is high. My husband is beyond supportive; he is on a spiritual plane with access to the most patient, compassionate listening devices. My edgy thinking, also extremely compassionate, intuitively wise Queer daughter has been and continues to be my opener into new experiences and life-lesson teacher. So with this family, I am beyond blessed. But what about my sister and my family of origin? I'm looking for clues all day long as I teach at one house and another while hopping back in my car in between. From the books my students are reading (The Color Purple, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Book Thief), I know family is what we make it to be. From one of my parents at the close of the day, after discussing how we lay blame during hard economic times and the American blame these days has been illegal immigrants, I fully nod as she says, “We are all human. We are really all one human family.”
OK, I get how blessed I am to have the families and students I work with daily and I get how blessed I am to understand the interconnection between all earth dwellers...but I'm still having trouble placing my sister into this philosophical belief. I suppose it comes from my stubborn nature, my not letting go of grudges, my not relaxing into myself and saying, “Fuck it, I am who I am and I lead my life as I lead it and it doesn't matter what this sister thinks.” But this sounds crude and not quite what I had in mind. I have never sworn at my childhood family and I probably never will. Perhaps one has to feel totally comfortable with someone to be able to swear at them.
My family frustration is softening. Writing and time does that. I'm owning up to my part in the family drama. I can reach out more; I can continue to risk more, be more honest. I can be a compassionate listener. Or...I can simply admit there is no reason to fight for intimacy when it isn't there. I can admit who my supportive family members are and let go of the rest. Unfortunately, I am programmed to believe only biology counts, and this pull is strong. Yet it is my women friends who are the sisters I was meant to have. It has never been easy to be the person I am because I tend to be my “self” with everyone. I have a hard time being false or merely “social.” As my husband can attest, I blurt out my inner thoughts without consequence. And I have paid the price of my forthrightness. What it all comes down to is forgiving “me” and seeing “me” as my own first blessing. I have given to families, tried to save families (including my biological one), created my own family, given widely to a community circle of open, sensitive, caring people. One of my dearest sister friends gave me a treasured piece of wisdom: “Take what you get and let it be enough!” And this is my answer to my family dilemma: quit trying to shape my sister, brother, nieces, nephews into what I hoped they might be. And let go of the person I wished I could be with them.
© 2012
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