still scanning photos. slightly amazed at all the memories pushing up and out as i go through these.
here is a picture of my sister and i on my fifth birthday, august 24, 1970.
there are a number of memories that occur looking at this image. i first remember being told years later of how close my sister and i were. they were hard pressed to get us to be in separate rooms, and i was forever looking after her, “little mother hen clucking”, was how my grandmother used to put it.
i remember as well that my sister always had to be part of whatever was going on… and tended to pitch horrific tantrums if she was not an equal recipient of the spotlight. this usually meant she got presents on my birthday. heh. over time, i tended to let her have the spotlight. i didn’t need it so much and i could see that she did.
in this shot, she’s holding my new doll, but her matching blue purse had already been lost. i avoided getting in trouble over opening the umbrella in the house, but i think it was only because it was my birthday and, of course, there were other things happening that made pampering me in this moment required.
this birthday was strangely overwhelming. if you look at the previous ones, you’ll note this one was far more decorative. it wasn’t just a birthday party, it was some kind of event. of course, i didn’t know it at the time. all i knew was it was the best birthday i’d yet had, and i figured being five must be some big thing in life, because everyone was there, and i was drowned in presents… new clothes, new shoes, new toys, things i’d never asked for or needed suddenly showed up in ribbons and bows. a book bag. an umbrella. galoshes. a rain slicker.
this was, of course, the year i was placed into the children’s home. it happened shortly after my birthday. later, i learned the home wouldn’t take me until i was five… and in the face of silence by ‘the family’, i was left to wonder how long they had wished me gone before they were actually able to manage it.
i wondered a lot of things back then, and since then. somewhere, there are letters i wrote home to grandma. i still can’t read them. childish handwriting asking when i can come home. polite phrases of missing you’s that didn’t scratch the surface of the fear and hurt and pain.
i look at the photos after 1970 and can see the changes in my face, in my eyes. it was years before i felt like i had any meaning or value in the world. and to this day, that little girl sometimes looks up from deep inside and asks, ‘why?’ and while i can give her some answers, there are many i cannot… so we both still wonder.
my sister and i were separated for almost two years. she arrived at the children’s home when she turned five, too. the people who ran the place decided we were ‘too close’ and separated us. put us into different cottages. by the time we could spend time regularly together, there was a gap between us… and it grew over time until memories of holding hands and ‘me too!’ and feeling close were like stories, dreams, something that might have been and didn’t quite make it.
we’ve tried, of course, in the years since. but she’s inherited all the dysfunction and after almost 30 years of watching her bleed and suffering cuts from her, i’ve pretty much given up on being able to staunch her wounds, let alone stop her from giving me new ones.
for a long time, it felt like clinging to an old, gnarled root as i was being slowly stretched over some yawning maw of doom. trying with mortal strength to close a gap that time and circumstance widened far faster than my puny muscles could manage.
i remember letting go. to over-use the analogy… climbing by painfully slow motions over the lip and sitting there, panting and weeping for all the ways i was unable, watching her drift further away and noticing that she never looked back.
it’s funny, in a sad way. everyone always assumed i was strong because i was silent. they never understood i was silent because i was afraid if i ever opened my mouth, or let any of it out, i would be screaming forever, that i would start crying and simply never stop.
i know better now, of course. i started crying in 1988. in many ways, i started living then, too. the year is no coincidence… and to this day i thank the universe for the gift given me.
i still walk to the cliffside, now and then. sit there and look off into the horizon, the other side of this abyss long since disappeared from view. but i know it is there…. somewhere… and every now and then, i return… to sit, to watch, to imagine i see movement and wonder what it might be like to have a sister.
i miss you, T. i love you. i wish i could have made a difference for you. i wish my love for you had been enough to see you through. i miss you. i miss you. i love you. please be happy. someday.