I attended another memorial today. It seems I am at the age where my friends parents are starting to make their exits. My sister informed me last week that it has been 12 years this month since our own father passed. Sadly more like 32 years for me.
It was weird we had our first real talk this past week. The first time we discussed anything as equals. Usually our conversations are sermons from her to me spouting off all the answers to life's questions and telling me how she has done everything right and pointing where I went wrong and what I need to do to get back on track.
Of course this is from my little sister perspective. She sounds like she has it all together but this is just denial on her part. She has lived with addition since she met her husband at 16 first her in-laws and then her husband taking pills to deal with the in-laws. We don't talk about this.
Our talk this week was about our childhood. How she thought it was a mistake when we left the inner city and moved to the suburbs. I was four and she was ten. She left great friends when we moved and she never fit in in our new neighborhood. I remember her spending most of her time locked in her room reading.
The discussion started after I told her about the death of my friends mother. She reminded me there were three friends my mother, my friends mother and Grace. I had forgotten about Grace she had cancer and died the year before my mother was diagnosed. I remember Grace being pale and very thin and very put together. Her house was perfectly decorated and she had a lot of rules. Kids had to quiet and we had to eat in the kitchen. When she got sick she retired to her bedroom and she wouldn't let anyone see her not even her kids.
It was weird re-living my childhood with my sister. I told her how I felt abandoned by her and my dad right after my moms death. She said I had my grandmother who adored me and didn't like her. The adored part was true I have to admit. But my grandmother had relationships that more like possessions. You were in or out depending on what you could offer her.
My mother and grandmother fought over me a lot. She always got her way and used every weapon in her arsenal to wear down your resistance. I think we moved to get away from her but it didn't work we just had to drive further when we got those so called emergencies. My mother was the baby and was trapped. When she died my grandmother cried for three years. My dad severed his relationship with her almost immediately after my mothers death.
Seeing things from my sisters perspective reminds me once again we all have our own stories. They are just that stories but to us they are perfect in every detail. The idea that my grandmother didn't like never would have crossed my mind. Not part of my story.
I have been doing a lot of reminiscing about the past. Wondering how much was real and how much was my colorful rendition of the truth. At this point I guess it isn't important unless I want to make it important.