“We are each other’s reference point at our turning points.”
This quote from Elizabeth Fishel’s book, Sisters: Shared Histories, Lifelong Ties — a compilation of more than 150 interviews and questionnaires with more than 150 women — describes what my blood sisters have been for me throughout my life and what I have been for them. This dynamic was recently captured in an email exchange with one of my sisters in response to my July 10 post about my mother dying without a memorial service or obituary entitled, “Showing Up — Part Two.” In its entirety, this email exchange captures our lifelong struggle to move forward to be ourselves despite deeply imbedded fear. After consulting with a couple of beloveds, I publish it here with that sister’s permission:
You realize, of course, that Dad intimated to [his younger sister] that “the kids would be taking care of the service.” He’s already exonerated himself. Expect to be asked why “the kids” didn’t do anything, because Dad will probably repeat at the reunion what he told us at hospice. If you are asked about it at the reunion, respond, “Dad told us that Mom was a very private person. He said that she would not have wanted a funeral service. We disagreed, but he insisted. Why don’t you ask him directly about this because I’d sure like to know.”
Unlike you, I am singularly pissed. Pissed at Dad. Pissed at Mom. Pissed at myself for not being able to sustain my courage and dignity. It’s an extraordinarily tough battle to be nobody but yourself in a world where everyone wants you to be somebody else. It’s a nearly impossible battle to be nobody but yourself in mom and dad’s world. Their world was/is so circumscribed. So conditional. So impenetrable. So life-denying.
I remain thankful for you sharing this, Sharie (<<appropriate nickname).
Thank you,dear Kelly. You are one of about four beloveds who has ever been in one room with my surviving sisters at my 50th birthday celebration, 15 years ago. Means so much.
Ahhh, my friend, thanks for making the difficult effort to maintain connections through all of this. It would be so easy to just walk away, but I think maybe you tried that, discovering maybe that isolation has its own consequences and downsides. Better to attempt to support each other and learn what we can along the way.
I have five siblings ranging in age from 3 years younger than me to 9 years older. We are not close and I’m not sure that I want to be. They seem to bring out the crazy in me. There are so many old indestructible patterns we’ve inherited and continue to live out. It’s painful. Your sister is right. You are brave to go there.
Wise words, Beth. I have had varying degrees of success with my sisters — our relationships ebb and flow, though in recent years, the connections have become more steady with a couple of them, and I’m grateful. For one thing, they don’t dismiss the truth as I remember/see it although they may remember/see it differently. That’s a great gift.
Sorry your siblings bring out the crazy in you because you’ve only ever brought out the better angels in me. xoxo
I read this post earlier this morning and then left with Dad to run errands. I thought about the post everywhere we went. It is hard to put yourself out there without feeling like somehow you are going to get in trouble. I’m 60 years old and many times feel brave and courageous, but then that old guilty tape begins playing in my head. I just want to run out in one of the neighboring Amish corn fields and scream my head off. I think being who I am is going to take a lot of practice. I know someday I’ll silent those old tapes and feel free to be just who I am – just plain me. Sharie, you are not in this journey alone. I am right there cheering you on and learning from you. Thank you for sharing with me. What a gift you are giving me.
Merrie Lee – I am in the middle of my daily 5-mike walk and will appropriately reply to your very courageous comment when I get home. xoxo
Merrie Lee — we each have a copy of our family’s greatest hits. The only way I know how to tune out those often overwhelmingly accusatory voices, or at least to make them less intrusive, is by exercising my own voice. The more I’ve used it, the more powerful it has become. In all candor, screaming in the middle of a farm field has helped me. Therapy has helped. Friends have ALWAYS helped. That being said, writing words on a page has been the most reliable path to my voice.
Seeing your words in print out there in the World Wide Web via this blog kinda hit ya upside the head, didn’t it? (Don’t worry, though — no more than a dozen people know about this blog and each one is compassionate and non-judgmental). That’s because when words hit the page they become history. They become story. Indelible. Hard to shake off. The more you write and/or read your story, the more its words not only scare the sh!t out of you, but the more they fuel your courage. It’s completely ironic. And frightening. Thank gawd for companions like you who cheer me on. And I’m cheering you on. We’ve gotten this far, and by god, we aren’t going to stop now.
I’m not sure why, but after reading Merrie Lee’s comment, I was reminded of a passage in Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life:
” . . . thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said: ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.'”
“I tell this story again because it usually makes a dent in the tremendous sense of being overwhelmed that my students experience. Sometimes it actually gives them hope, and hope, as Chesterton said, is the power of being cheerful in circumstances that we know to be desperate. Writing can be a pretty desperate endeavor, because it is about some of our deepest needs; our need to be visible, to be heard, our need to make sense of our lives, to wake up and grow and belong.”
Bird by bird. Word by word.
You’ve been taking it bird by bird for a long time now. A deep bow to you.
Those birds have been flying overhead for a long time — you’re right, Judy. Sometimes I don’t like what they deposit, but heck, sh!t happens! Thanks for reading this post and for commenting.
I feel truly humbled by this post. So honest. So much pain. But also the beauty of mutuality and support. I think, Sharon, that your love of, and giftedness with, words has not only helped you discover who you are, but has clearly also helped your sisters find who they are. And to see the mutual support growing out of all this “finding” is a rare and beautiful thing. Keep at it! Word by word by word.
Thank you, dear friend Carol. I read your comment early last evening and sat with it for a long while. I hope my sister will give herself the gift of reading it. Thank you by thank you by thank you.
I love how you think about life. This post is really penetrating. I’m glad I can read your writing whenever I want to!
Thank you, dear Paulina, for checking in from Thailand! I love how you think and WRITE about life.