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| poutanaki |
The book I'm reading about procrastination has a section about models of success and failure. People in our lives when we were young, who were either the kind of people we wanted to be, or the kind of people we knew we didn't want to be. I have been thinking who my models were.
The first person I thought of as a model of success, was my oldest sister, my beautiful sister. I was always in awe of her. She was the loving homely type, who's house was always spotless, who baked and knitted and made clothes. She was a fantastic mother and she raised her children so well. I know she loved me, I know she tried to teach me how to be the person she thought I should be. Though I perhaps always felt inadequate.
When she was alive I always felt she babied me, patronised me, treated me like I was ill (because she knew the extent of my past troubles and couldn't see beyond them). I always felt I was trying to prove I was an adult, that I could look after myself, that I was competent and capable… but then I was her little sister. There was 12 years difference between us, so I guess it was difficult for her ever to see me as anything but a small child.
When a few years ago I told my sisters of the full extent of my troubles, I was so hurt to discover that at the time I lived with her, when I was on the edge of despair and so desperate for help, she knew about all of my self destructive behaviours and yet she never said a word. All we did was argue and she sent me back to live at home when I turned 16. I was so hurt and angry that she didn't help me when I needed it most. I couldn't understand why she hadn't helped me at that time. Though after some initial harsh words, I ended up saying sorry on a drunken night out and we hugged and made up. After that I was angry at myself that I had apologised when she had not explained or shown remorse.
Before I got to raise it again, she got cancer, and you can't feel mad at somebody who's dying, can you? So I put it to one side. Now I am sorry I was so angry, for that time when I felt she let me down, not because she died, but because there were a hundred other times when she helped me, and cared for me and made my life more bearable. I am too young to know, but I suspect she raised us all in part, her 3 sisters, I suspect being the oldest she boar the brunt of my mums anger and violence. I know that in my time of trouble, when she was young herself, with a young family, that she did her best. Even if she made mistakes, then I forgive them, as we all make mistakes and hurt each other occasionally without meaning too. We are only human.
I wish that I had been able to talk to her like this, to have a true honest conversation about our life and experiences and feelings. I never did, we don't share such things easily in my family. But I know she loved me, she chose a change of career inspired by me, and was training when she was diagnosed. As patronising and insulting as I found that at the time. It was a kind of honour that she felt she wanted to do that, because of me.
I hope she knew how much I loved her, that she my model, that she was what my mother should have been. She was a ray of light in a world of darkness, and I dread to think who I would have been without her. I have been so angry with myself, that I didn't spend enough time with her when she was dying, but I didn't know. I didn't know how close to the end she was. No one did. I was angry at my other sisters for not including me in their visits, when they could drive and I couldn't. I told myself I would have spent more time if they hadn't excluded me so much. But I could have got the bus, I was wrong to feel so resentful. I guess I didn't feel the urgency, because I didn't know how little time I had. It was my choice. I had two weeks booked off, with the intention of telling her I had holidays I had to use and spending the time with her, but I was too late.
The last time I spoke to her was the day before she died, I went up to her house with my sister and stayed for a while. We made her breakfast, my job was making runny scrambled eggs, but I left them in the microwave too long and they were to firm and she couldn't eat them. I was so angry at myself and felt inadequate for fucking it up. I kissed her cheek and said I love you before I went home. We don't say it much in my family, but it somehow seems more important to say it when someone is dying (what a sad testament that sentence is to my family dynamic, at our inability to express love).
The day after she died in hospital and by the time I got to the hospital she was so drugged up she was not aware I was there, but I held her hand and I cried. I was angry at my sisters as they rang me too late, and even then were telling me not to come to the hospital till the morning. But they didn't know it was the end, my sister herself had been telling everyone to go home and come back the next day, only a few hours before she died. I am sorry for being angry and feeling pushed out, they didn't know, they didn't realise and they are only human.
So tonight, almost 20 months later, I find myself thinking of her and crying. For the person she was and the effect she had in my life. For the loss I feel at the amount I miss her. I have realised tonight that I have to stop being angry; at myself for my mistakes, at her and my other sisters for theirs, at the world for taking her away. I have to forgive myself for the opportunities that are lost that I didn't take, for the words I didn't ever get to say; for the time I didn't spend. I am only human.
I loved you so much and I'm sorry for anything I ever did that hurt you, I miss you. Thank you for all you were and all you did, I would have been truly lost without you.
Edited Fri 2 Oct 09, 8:01 AM by poutanaki
| 1 Oct 09, 11:13 PM totallycoverme UK(M), 4 yrs |
that was such an emotional read my thoughts are with you xx It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice |
| 2 Oct 09, 8:12 AM xXx_scarlet_xXx UK, 4 yrs |
Isn't it wonderful to be able to write and express yourself as you did in your web-log? I really felt that and I hope you feel better x (º•.¸(¨*•.¸¸.•*¨)¸.•º) «.•°•. Scarlet .•°•.» (¸.•º(¸.•¨**¨•.¸)º•.¸) |
| 2 Oct 09, 9:43 AM fussyone 9 yrs  |
Thank you for sharing it - i'm completely gutted for you that your sister died. xxxx |
| 2 Oct 09, 11:57 PM darkdollie UK(FY), 7 yrs £ |
Very touching, thankyou for sharing xxxx perspectives change when you're on your knees ~ Killing Miranda |
| 6 Mar 10, 1:21 PM Patient1 UK(GL), 7 yrs |
This is a heart wrenching account, not only because of the clear, open and honest way you have written this but because many people will be able to relate to the lack of ability to express feelings of love and affection, particularly within the family environment. |
| 27 Feb 11, 7:41 PM Amante_Velora UK(SW), 22 mths  |
My big sister died three years ago as well, on the 29th February aged 55. I'll light a candle for her at midnight as there isn't another 29th until next year. I remember reading your first blog about your sister, with my own feelings so raw. Each year in spring, my heart aches when I see her favourite flower, the yellow tulip. When she was so ill, her words became mixed up and in trying to say "snowdrops", she said "white snops". We laughed with her then and when I see the white snops I smile. Then I reminisce. Hers wasn't my first pain of bereavement but it's no less painful. ***Disclaimer: I accept no liability for the content of this post, or for the consequences of any misconstruction taken on the basis of the information provided, unless that information is subsequently confirmed in writing. Please do not ask for credit as a punch in the mouth will often offend*** Edited 27 Feb 11, 10:54 PM by Amante_Velora |
xx
