My eldest sister has passed and the irony is all of my siblings are gone and my mother at 91 survives. My mother asked why am I still here? I wanted to say that " it is your punishment" and I bit my lip. Though I do think it is karma, though I am not sure how she feels as I think of her as a selfish person. Losing my eldest sister has to be the hardest. She is the one who encouraged me to write our story. How did we survive as long as we did? The more I explored domestic violence, the more I realized it touched all walks of life and to various degrees. It is true that you can't compare and apple to an orange, that one person's pain is no more or less than another. We put it under the title or chapter "different" we are all different with our own stories, but our emotions are he same.
My loss of my eldest feels greater in pain. Many reasons for that , when I was a child she was more mother than my own mother, caretaker, responsible for our well being. She left the house as a teenager 'minor emancipation" though we were not allowed to have contact with her. I remember finding ways to see her . You hold on to a good moment because there are so many bad ones.
One memory, I was all of ten years old and she took me shopping. It was my first real outfit. I remember the moment even though it is now 51 years ago. She took me to sears and I can clearly see the day and remember in detail the outfit. It was my first grown up outfit and not a hand me down. The skirt was a purple pink and green plaid pleated skirt, the kind that was popular with the large brass pin. I had a soft pink silk blouse and a purple vest with brass button to match. ahh but more important was the grown up under clothing. I remember thinking for sure I was at the age where you are part adult and part child. I know we grew up in some ways faster than most children. I think children of abusive households do grow up faster.
My mother gets all the sympathy cards but she hadn't spoken to my sister in the last twelve years. Not like I blamed lex , sometimes it is just "enough is enough" I think God left me last to continue to tell the story , if only to help one person than my time on earth will have made some sense. My sister Lex had a heavy responsibility to over look and make sure we were safe. I know my pain is not greater than anyone else's or that my story is somehow worse than anyone else. I keep asking myself how can I make a difference? I have held fundraisers , tried to raise awareness and still so much is not done yet. We need to chip away at the negativity in the world, drugs, alcohol and violence even sickness. Where do we start? How do we start? There are charity organizations and people out there to help. Maybe it is just not enough. We are living in a different world , the world of technology. Does this help or hurt the cause ? If we take down walls and share in our stories than we removed fear and maybe even chiseled away at the stigma attached. In a room of strangers everyone has a story. How do we fix it? I keep asking myself the same question over and over.
