This is my sister’s 40th birthday.
Forty years ago my mom became a mother.
For the last six (I think?) years Tasha has shut Mom, Betty, Nana, and myself out of her life. Doors closed. No contact. Silence.
Happy birthday, Tasha. I hope you’re happy. I do. All the same… You’re forty. It’s time to grow up. Shit happens. But guess what? Not a heck of a lot happened to you. So get over yourself already. You once told me your life would’ve been perfect if I hadn’t turned up. Probably only said to hurt me, but I believe there was a grain of truth in there about how you feel. Poor thing, you surely are the only person who ever had to share their parent’s attention. But Tasha, my birth didn’t mess up your life. Your views on how the world mistreats you are your choice. It’s a little drama you’ve created.
So why am I so upset? Clearly, someone so psychologically messed up and hurtful is not someone I need in my life.
She’s my sister. I can’t think of my childhood without her in the memory. Okay, sure, a whole lot of the time she was sulking, or tantruming, or making sure I didn’t enjoy whatever it was she wished she’d gotten at whatever age I was. But there were also a whole lot of good times. Giggling in the back seat of the car as we drove across the country, running with kilts swinging through the back halls of the highschool where we had our dance competitions, enjoying hot chocolate with Mom’s scissor-snipped marshmallow bunnies after skiing in the woods, building sandcastles and walls and moats trying to delay the inevitable destruction of our creations by the tide.
So I miss her because of missed hope. I miss how things once were, and even more, how they might have been.
Same reasons I stayed with Adrian as long as I did.
Maybe it’s time for me to grow up too, and quit believing fairy tales.
Mom, I know you did everything you could for Tasha. I know you loved and still love her. So enjoy the happy memories today – you did do good. Remember the happiness in her eyes when it was there.