The Hand

Sunday marked another year without my sister.

We were almost 3 years apart in age. Close enough to grow up with each other but far enough apart to not have much in common. 

We shared the same childhood but from two very different perspectives and outcomes. 

Sitcom families always put the responsibility on the older one to be more mature and to take care of their siblings. On the other hand, the "babies" of the family were allowed to be more mischievous and "get away with murder." 

These personas did not fit us. I always felt the burden of being the one to not cause trouble and hold more responsibility while my sister's acting out was eventually more expected than disciplined. 

She did not take care of me or even show interest in me and the less we interacted the better our coexistence became. 

My perspective, of course. Not hers.

So, when she passed away, and I was contacted by one of her friends on social media, I merely assumed it would be a generic condolence. It was not. 

It was a simple "I can't imagine how you are feeling right now knowing that your sister passed away while not liking you." Uhm, excuse me. 

Not liking me? Is that what she told you?

I don't know why or how quickly my blood began to boil but it did.

I was the one that did everything right. I took care of you. I got nothing in return, And YOU didn't like ME?

"Well, guess what, sister, I didn't like you!"

Those words about her could have easily come out of my mouth, but, coming out of hers was unthinkable. At least then and especially in that moment.

I have looked back on it many times over the years and my perspective, without knowing hers, of course, has changed. Even my perspective on her friend has changed too.

Maybe she just phrased it poorly. Maybe she was just a blunt person. Maybe it was something she needed to say to me. 

As far as my sister, I realize now it wasn't easy being her which also circles back to different perspectives.

The challenges we faced together manifested themselves inside of us in very different ways. What I saw, what I felt, and how I coped with it all wasn't the same way she did. 

It was always evident, at every phase, she was struggling. Struggling in relationships. Struggling in marriage. Struggling in life. 

And just like that, she was gone. Another thing, to add to the list of things I didn't like about her.

Then, I started to realize...

Watching each other and how we handled it all so differently from the very beginning and along the way, didn't make us confidantes. 

Or even friends. 

But I knew then as much as I do now, that we did love each other, even if we had trouble finding a common ground where we could have expressed it.

I have also realized...

Time doesn't erase the loss but it can change how you carry it.

You begin to understand how precious even the ordinary moments were.

Learning to live with loss and giving yourself the grace to not have it all figured out is what the beginning of healing can look like. 

But it takes more than that to get to a place where grief and growth can exist together. 

However, you first have to realize that growth doesn't cure grief. It holds its hand.

You can carry the pain forward as you continue living alongside it. 

I realize now, many years later, that her friend had trouble validating what my loss felt like because she didn't fully understand our relationship. 

She may have wanted me to elaborate my feelings then but I chose not to respond.

Today, I would tell her this:

When a close relationship ends in death, the grief is straightforward.

When it is a complicated relationship, the grief is often doubled. 

I wasn't just processing the loss, but, the harsh realization that things could have been different all those years if we had of tried.

Holding the hand of complicated grief means that you can't re-write history or pretend the relationship was anything else than it really was.

You are thrown into dark rooms that are immune to boundaries you protected and family dynamics you blamed.

Only death can slam those kind of doors at you.

and only healing can reach out and open them if you take the hand.

I chose to take the hand. 

It has helped me to grieve differently but the way I need to.

I have acknowledged both truths.

Respecting my boundaries and weeping for how it all turned out are my truths.

Admitting them both have allowed me to grieve.

To my sister, I would say this:

It was a heavy emotional landscape that neither of us knew how to navigate and with you gone, I have become the person that has to find the path to put us on that we deserved.

Without you, and a clear road map, I have:

Honored the complexity of our reality rather than trying to fit us into a traditional mold.

Released us from the "never was" and only mourned the "what it could have been."

Allowed our perspectives to coexist without judgement or blame.

Created rituals of ways I celebrate you by doing things you enjoyed to do.

Moved my boundary from each other to block us from unsupportive people so we don't have to justify or explain our relationship to people who do not or do not want to understand.

Said it out loud for you to hear "I love you" and felt you saying it back. 

Continued to hold growth's hand for both of us.

Hidden

The older I get, the more I realize:

Peace is my most valuable asset. My energy is my responsibility. Slow progress is still progress. These things I hold dearly. So, having to possibly disrupt or sacrafice them at this stage of my life to find more income, is weighing on him. 

Also, I haven't had to actively search for a job in quite awhile as I have spent the last decade volunteering and making a living doing services for people I know or through word of mouth.

I also haven't had to understand until lately how much more difficult it is being 54 and not 34 looking for employment. 

10 applications - nine of them ignored and one very quick "sorry, but, you are not qualified." Hello? Excuse me, but, yes, I am. Qualifications that span over my lifetime kind of qualified, actually, that you quickly dismissed without explanation.  How rude. 

But, beyond all that, there has been a deepening of hard emotions building inside me. A heart palpitation here, an unprompted sadness there, another uncontrollable cry, and this increasingly ignored distraction.....sitting in me.....surfacing.....commanding my attention. My father's anniversary of the day he died is this week. 

There is this part of grief that I have never really heard anyone talk about maybe because it is more felt than named. When a loved one dies, there is a piece of you that is not just broken, but shattered, making it impossible to repair. 

That piece of you is what the other person brought out in you. ONLY that person brought it out in you. Sides of you that only they got to see and you got to feel. A softness in their voice and the right words you always needed to hear. A feeling of being lighter, happier, braver, and safer when they were near. 

And when they are gone, that piece of you leaves with them and never returns. 

I don't just miss him. I miss who I was with him. So, in a sense, I am also mourning myself on his anniversaries. It is a hidden and heavy grief to carry when you know it was everything to you and now it all gone, that person and that version of you. 

I've spent years trying to honor that version of myself by living with more intention, saying the words others may need to hear, being supportive and kind and encouraging as he was to me. But, man, that void of not getting it back the same way, well it hurts. 

I am grateful for the years I had it and the wonderful traits he naturally brought out in me. Because of him, I know who I am and what I am capable of. That is the gift that softens the hurt. 

 

 

Soul Friends

I recently spent a night out with old friends. It was long over due. We're talking decades in the making. 

From the very beginning, it turned out to be the most impactful and fulfilling gathering that we, undoubtedly, needed so much. 

As if acting like giddy teenagers all over again wasn't enough, this evening was highlighted by a flood of memories, reflections, belly laughing, toasting special loved ones that have passed and a refreshing amount of honesty that can only be shared with people who know you so well. 

It was full of every emotion possible and it made me realize something very special:

There are certain friendships that change you forever.

Not because they're perfect but because they are imperfectly rooted inside of you— in a loyalty, trust, and unwavering support kind of way that you have not only earned but gifted to each other.

It grows out of years of sharing laughter and tears. 

It is held together with sacred memories and a profound sense of safety and peace that surrounds them.

It is real, raw, and uncommon enough that once you feel it, it becomes a part of you and them. 

It stays cradled in your hearts and gently surfaces to remind you of happier times when you need it most. 

It settles into your bones with an odd sense of familiarity, like it has been there before. 

It is a rare connection, so true and deep, that it remains untouched by years and distance. 

It has a life of its own and rejoices when your paths cross again because it recognizes each others souls.

There is an ancient Gaelic phrase for this kind of unique friendship called Anam Cara - used to describe your soul friends that walk beside you, understanding your spirit without the need for masks or pretenses. 

They are your mirrors that reflect back to you the truest form of who you really are, and, in turn, you are forever grateful for finding them in this lifetime and the next because you know how rare and beautiful this kind of friendship really is.

Cheers to my Anam Caras, and another sacred memory of a night of hugs and belly laughs with you!