On Friday I didn’t go to visit my sister.
Wait. That’s not entirely true.
I met one of my sisters at the new Starbucks in Mission. Diane sipped her decaf latte as I wiped cinnamon from my lips, drinking the same thing I always order, a grande cappuccino.
We caught up on family news as we drank, and then, finally, we started talking about what we really needed to decide.
Would we, could we, should we…visit our other sister, Rhonda?
Rhonda lives only a few minutes from where we were sitting.
The last time I saw Rhonda was just over three years ago. She sat beside me at our father’s funeral. Her eyes were black and she seemed to pull her words down from clouds that hung, dark and heavy, just out of her reach.
In short, she was quite wrecked. I don’t know what she ingests. She used to be mostly a prescription-drug addict, but now, I have no idea what she takes to ensure she is never in the building.
Diane lives closer to Rhonda than I do, so she’s seen her a few times since the funeral. But as soon as she visits her, it is the same pattern that we have both experienced – endless guilt-inducing calls for money that go from begging to name-calling.
It is always the same; all or nothing.
We three sisters are each separated by four years.
Because Diane is the oldest, when she left home at 17-years old, I was only nine and Rhonda thirteen.
Which is why it is Rhonda who I remember the most from my childhood. Rhonda was the artist, the one who could draw anything. She was the one who belted out every song from Jesus Christ Superstar while her strong hands nailed each accompanying chord.
Rhonda could make horses fly over jumps while perfectly tucked onto an English saddle. Or she galloped bareback, a she-devil completely in sync with her horse, her glossy brown hair flying out behind her. Rhonda played basketball, spiked a mean volleyball, and could do the butterfly stroke for a crazy number of lengths. She had her lifeguard certification. She drove fast, got busted drinking at parties and fought against every rule.
In short, I grew up in awe of my big sister. She was strong, artistic, brave, rebellious and wild.
For most of my life I have felt guilty for all that I thought Rhonda had done for me. I saw her as the one blazing the trail, fighting against the tight walls of our Mennonite upbringing. Rhonda was my hero, kicking and screaming against everything we were told not to do.
It is only in the last few years that I have come to realize that the story I’d been telling myself wasn’t true. She hadn’t been doing any of that for me. It had nothing to do with me at all.
In fact, because of her behaviour, she actually made my high school years harder. After everything they’d been through with Rhonda, I’m sure my parents were convinced they simply needed to be even stricter with me.
As I get older and see how fragile this life is, I am endeavouring to try to see the truth of things and to make healthier choices. And one of the best choices I can make for my mental health is to stay away from the sister I love.
I have never been to Al-Anon but I have read enough to know that unless Rhonda sees she has a problem and gets some help, nothing will change. Considering she’s about to turn 61-years old and has never admitted to being an addict – I’m guessing the change isn’t coming any time soon.
Unless someone has experienced the profound manipulation and energy-zapping abilities of an addict, this decision probably sounds heartless. Hell, it sounds heartless to me and I’m the one doing it. But I realize that it doesn’t matter how it looks to other people. It’s my life and my decision.
Still, I truly wish I could be larger somehow. I wish I was a bigger, better, Dalai Lama-ish person who could visit her, keep my boundaries intact and get out without crying all the way home and feeling sick for days. But I’m not and I can’t and I’m finally coming to terms with that.
My sister is stuck in a special type of hell. And the thing about being in her hell, is she does her best to drag me or anyone else in her presence to join her in that black hole. Addicts are specialists in guilt and manipulation. Being around her is like entering a vortex where my energy feels like it is sucked out of the soles of my feet. And, once contact has been made, the pattern begins with screaming-crying-threatening and ugly phone messages that carry on in an endless looping nightmare.
Even so, Diane and I went back and forth, should we, should we not, should we...
We talked again about the Al-Anon saying, the one I repeat to myself:
I didn’t cause it. I can’t cure it. I can’t control it.
In the end, we made our decision...
As I drove away from the Starbucks I realized that sometimes I’m so busy at looking at what isn’t, that I miss what is.
That is, I had just spent two hours with a sister who loves me like I love her. A woman who, like I wish for her, genuinely hopes for my happiness. A big sister who understands how messed-up it is to have a sister like Rhonda. So I might not have seen Rhonda, but I had a lovely time with Diane.
I still like to think that I might see Rhonda one day, but then I think that’s probably more of my wishful, and slightly delusional, thinking. Still, I want to believe that it could happen, so, for now, I’ll hang onto that thought.
But this time, I decided to choose myself first.
Because this is what I know for sure, as bad as I feel by not seeing her, I will feel worse if I do.
Colleen,
You are brave and wise and so so generous for sharing that beautifully — and truthfully — crafted reflection. Saying “no” to someone whose life is enmeshed with your own takes guts. Wow.
With thanks,
Doug
Doug. I sure don’t feel very brave or wise but I am trying hard to be truthful, so thank you for such kind words. They mean a lot.
Thanks Colleen.
I think we all wish, search, pray that we could do or be more.
Dan. Thank you. It is comforting to know I’m in good company.
Oh, Colleen, I feel for you. I know how deep these things go, and the path that needs to be taken by the family and friends of someone in active addiction (whether they are using or not, emotional sobriety is the hard part that comes AFTER stopping the addiction).
But the miracle can happen and I have met many people who had cut themselves off from everyone they loved and who loved them, and through some kind of grace found the way to lasting sobriety, to the profound gratitude of everyone around them who only ever expected the call that the loved one was dead.
I don’t know how some people achieve sobriety, they are so far gone. And when they do it is a sobering thought to think of the wreckage of their past they must face and if possible, make amends for. So the other part of hoping for the miracle is the unconditional love that will bridge the way for the addict to move from self-destructive behaviour – for many, all they have ever known – to believing in themselves enough to take responsibility, accept the consequences, and choose to live clean each and every day regardless of whatever comes after sobriety is achieved.
This society needs to come clean itself over the advertising of drugs like alcohol and prescription drugs and the failure to acknowledge the harm that can come from them; to offer help early in the cycle of addiction, without judgement, and through holistic treatment that enables the addict to come into unity in themselves.
I pray that it happens for your sister, even though it may never change the dynamic or the history. I’m so proud to be your friend, to know that you raised your nephew rather than see him enter the foster care system and that it was incredibly challenging and the very definition of love in and of itself.
I’m so glad you and your sister have each other and have found a way to love Rhonda and hold her in your hearts while maintaining your boundaries. XO
Laurie. You have so much hard-won wisdom. This is such an eloquent and elegant summation. Thank you for you words and friendship.
My heart is heavy for you Colleen. You are strong, wise, kind and it is so evident that your love grows deep. Thanks for sharing.
Kelly. It is all so much better when shared in the company of friends. Although it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, I love and appreciate our long history of friendship. Hugs.
So so tough. My daughter. I love her and she is also extremely difficult. I am told she is an addict. I have not seen her for 8 years. She is apparently pregnant. Everything about her is tinged with the uncertainty true addicts spawn. Their stories, their incessant needs. Why not a pregnancy. She has done horrible things. But I sent her a message that I love her no matter what. She responded. Wanted money. I sent money. It was the right thing to do for reasons I cannot express readily. I hope that being pregnant has made her wary of drug use. I hope the happiness she says she has with her man (who supposedly was beating her last I heard) is real. Maybe I will see her again, maybe not. She is a little over half the age of your sister. Some things are too awful to look squarely at. You are doing well. It is so hard.
Oh Gail. The pain of your story…I am so sorry for what you’re going through. It must be so hard to not be consumed with it.
For years, I was literally sick with thoughts of my sister. It is so hard to let go.
I have no wisdom to impart and no words that will make it better but I think by sharing our stories we are stronger and more able to carry on. Keep breathing deeply. Perhaps all we can do is hope for the best while preparing for the worst.
Peace be with you.
Yes it is all so sad. Your words and your story are helpful because you say truth and your truth is right out of your heart. I will breathe on. You too.
Dear Gail, Mahalo and aloha ????
Thanks for sharing this, Colleen. As you said, it’s unfortunate, but many of us have some version of this story blowing around. They say we are “strongest in the broken places,” and I’d like to think that is true because so many of us are a little cracked from events and people who have influenced us over the years. Sadly, those wounds are so deep and can so easily be ripped open again by yet another disappointment–or worse.
I know that feeling you have – the wishing — oh, how I know. It’s so painful! I’m glad you are making peace with your decision to protect yourself, as tough as I know that is. Stay strong, sister!
Gwen. I think part of what makes this, all of this, even slightly bearable, is knowing that so many of my friends have weathered their own personal hells. We are stronger when our stories are shared.
I have this vision of all of us with our arms linked together in a chain of sisterhood.
So you stay strong too sister. We’re in this together. Thanks for being there.
Beautifully written. Sometimes strong boundaries make all the sense in the world.
Yes Elizabeth – I think that’s true. When it hurt me the most was when I couldn’t say no and was too close to all that was happening.
It’s taken so many years to get to this place but I think it’s the best I can do right now.
I appreciate your thoughts. Thank you.
Sad as it is…there seems to be one in every family. Thank you for sharing, and for choosing you, and for loving both of your sisters the best you can.
Thanks Barb. I appreciate your words.
And yes, unfortunately I think everyone can tell some version of this story. So much is broken but, like Mr. Cohen sang, there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. ????