I’ve been pissed off at my sister for most of my life. She’s made the most ass-backward decisions a person can make, in my humble opinion.
No, actually, it’s not just my fucking opinion. I think it’s a universal truth. Her life decisions are where bad decisions go to have one last hurrah before exploding.
But now, she’s all alone, sleeping in a room at Mass General Hospital in Boston, facing a battery of big tests, a damn scary surgery, and a big question mark following her recovery.
This might be her last chance to change her life. I hope she gets that chance.
She’s burned through so many friends, discarded like cigarette butts. She’s used people, and let them use her. Broken trust, broken hearts. I’ve written her off more times than I can count, for the way she treats my mother and her own two children. Yet, in the last 24 hours, I’ve called her twice to check on her, and I still can talk to her like she’s my little sister. She’s actually 3 years older, but it’s never really felt like that.
And as I sit here in my safe, warm home, trying to get the rest of the lights on the Christmas tree so that my little family can have a tree decorating party tomorrow night, as my kids sleep upstairs, my husband waiting for me to fill the space beside him in our bed, I feel so very sad for her. That she doesn’t have a partner to turn to in times like these. Or even a dear friend.
Or a sister.
I feel that if she’d just go out on a limb and try to stop being an asshole, if I could trust her, maybe this time, unlike all the other times I’ve tried to forgive all the hurt she’s caused the people I love, MAYBE this time would be different. Better. Something.
For now, I’m just going to collect all the positive thoughts I can muster and send them to her. For now, that’s all I can do.
And maybe give her a call tomorrow, just to let her know that her sister does care.