All week it's been raining off and on, and I've been buried in the intricacies of US tax season. The weekend's bright sunny weather arrived along with a breakthrough in my understanding of the Schedule C instructions, which would mean much clearer and easier filing, but also that I have to start over again. Determined to enjoy the weather and avoid the computer, I puttered around the yard, making new discoveries and greeting old friends as each fresh green shoot emerged from the winter's leavings. So it was a surprise to see an email waiting for a few hours, from a family member far away, urging me to call, it's important.
My family is not close; geographical and emotional distances have combined over the years, and most of us don't communicate much, even with the ease and immediacy of email. When someone calls in the middle of the night, or says to call urgently, it\'s generally bad news. Ok, it's almost always bad news. I called, dreading what I'd hear. As luck would have it, the one I needed to talk to was out, and I spoke with another family member, who is in the midst of Alzheimer's slow robbery. He was confused about several things in the conversation, but then realized I was asking why I'd been asked to call.
"Oh, she died. Your sister died today." Realizing that he wasn't able to tell me more, I left my number and hung up, thinking, this is going to hurt. We haven't spoken in quite awhile, our last exchanges via email. Her last message to me full of anger, criticism, righteous indignation. Although other family members have sent vaguely worded recriminations in the last year, and I knew she had been ill, I didn't find out how serious things were until about a month ago. A mutual acquaintance mentioned her to me, not knowing that we're sisters. Another family member when pressed, reluctantly admitted that said sister had requested that her state of health be kept from me. After struggling with all the implications and consequences I could imagine, whether from action or inaction, I sent her a card. No response, don't know if she received it. I've continued to hope that she appreciated my respect for her wishes.
When we were kids, we were the two siblings closest in age. I can't recall exactly when we became so close, but by the time we were 11 and 13, she was my confidante, my most trusted adviser, the one person who knew me better than anyone else. We swore oaths of things we'd remember forever, that we'd never change, that we'd always tell each other everything. I'm not sure when it changed, or how it changed so much, but over the years, that bright shining connection vanished.
Over the last 20 years, communication became difficult, misunderstandings abounded, damage was done to trust, and after experiencing a barrage of hostility, I limited all my interactions with family to two members, far away.
Not really sure where I'm going with this; there are so many thoughts about my sister; about the insurmountable misunderstandings; and all those churning emotions that only family members can elicit. Although any death is sad for those left behind, I am feeling more relief than anything else. Relief because of the most important thing - she's no longer in pain.
"Oh, she died. Your sister died today." Realizing that he wasn't able to tell me more, I left my number and hung up, thinking, this is going to hurt. We haven't spoken in quite awhile, our last exchanges via email. Her last message to me full of anger, criticism, righteous indignation. Although other family members have sent vaguely worded recriminations in the last year, and I knew she had been ill, I didn't find out how serious things were until about a month ago. A mutual acquaintance mentioned her to me, not knowing that we're sisters. Another family member when pressed, reluctantly admitted that said sister had requested that her state of health be kept from me. After struggling with all the implications and consequences I could imagine, whether from action or inaction, I sent her a card. No response, don't know if she received it. I've continued to hope that she appreciated my respect for her wishes.
When we were kids, we were the two siblings closest in age. I can't recall exactly when we became so close, but by the time we were 11 and 13, she was my confidante, my most trusted adviser, the one person who knew me better than anyone else. We swore oaths of things we'd remember forever, that we'd never change, that we'd always tell each other everything. I'm not sure when it changed, or how it changed so much, but over the years, that bright shining connection vanished.
Over the last 20 years, communication became difficult, misunderstandings abounded, damage was done to trust, and after experiencing a barrage of hostility, I limited all my interactions with family to two members, far away.
Not really sure where I'm going with this; there are so many thoughts about my sister; about the insurmountable misunderstandings; and all those churning emotions that only family members can elicit. Although any death is sad for those left behind, I am feeling more relief than anything else. Relief because of the most important thing - she's no longer in pain.