I can't believe it's been ten days since I wrote. A lot has happened in those ten days. On May 14, my younger sister died. She had Hep C and emphysema. Five days before she died, she was given about six months to live. We had no relationship. Still, when I got the news on the previous Thursday that she was so ill and her birthday was coming up on the 24th, I thought that everyone deserves to have at least a glimpse of feeling happy or just know that someone is thinking of them. Perhaps I could send a "thinking of you" or birthday card. My husband asked if I was doing this out of guilt, and I answered honestly - I have done nothing for which I should feel guilty. Victoria was a nightmare. She was a drug and alcohol abusing teen runaway, a thief and a vandal. Then she was an abusive mother to her daughter, irresponsible mooch who never got tired of putting her hand out. Add to that malicious and vindictive, and she was dangerous. How sad to live such a short life and be the kind of person that causes your own family to struggle to find something nice to say.
The day she died was harder than I expected it to be. I am so sad that she didn't have the inner strength to survive growing up in our family. I am sad that she had so little happiness or joy in her life. I'm sad that she never knew real friendship. I'm sad that we weren't a normal family. I'm sad that she didn't enjoy her own child in the way that I've enjoyed mine. I'm sad that she never had a loving partner in life, never took a vacation, never went to a comedy club, never rode a train, never had a good snowball fight, and never knew my son. This list is endless.
Add to this the fact that my father is, once again, in the geriatric psych ward of the hospital. This Vietnam veteran with worsening dementia has, once again, assaulted his family. This time he tried to start a fire in the house with paper and acetone to "smoke out those Viet Cong sleeping upstairs in their house," (the grandchildren who live with them are half Thai) and he attacked my step-mom with his cane. The VA says this isn't related to his service, and basically dust off their hands and respond, "Bummer for you." He's not exactly having flashbacks to his childhood in Montreal.
There's more, but that's the bulk of it.
I'm tired. It's selfish, but I'm tired. I can't help my father and I couldn't help my sister, and I feel worn. I'm afraid of getting sick or dying from something I could have remedied or avoided. I have spent the last couple of weeks working my butt off on the elliptical trying to avoid or delay the things that would make me just like them. I can't bear the thought that I might become like them. I am distracted from my art, distracted from housework, and not feeling very positive today. I want to be someone else and somewhere else just for a day.
Time to administer a kick to my own behind. Must snap out of it!
