Going to the Hardware Store for Milk

It starts like this: a bright cheery May morning, the warm whiffs of wind full of lilacs from the yard and the fresh scent of my neighbor's prized roses. The same familiar birds here on the long branches of our oak trees suddenly seem to synchronize their a capella harmonies, the sound of their united tunes combine with the chatter of the little boys next door and the echoes of grandparents playing catch with their grandsons, like a symphony almost. Everything is lush and green and vibrantly alive. The earth seems to vibrate with energy and I am not tired though it is only 6am on a Saturday, and I have just four hours of sleep in me. I pulled a muscle in my neck from positioning my body in odd contortions while sharing my double bed with my sister and two cats last night. But none of that much matters because my sister is here from the hills of North Carolina and I'm happy to be awake and with her. I feel at home, really at home with her here.

And then I am violently awoken from this dream (which was my reality until just now), startled into position by some strong force of will that is not altogether benign. The moment is gone. Passed on, not to come along again. The air fills with negativity from the malcontent who was was my sister once; who she is now I do not know exactly, I just know sister doesn't convey the habitual and almost involuntary abuse and control she tries to wield over me.

"You're so selfish. It's not all about you, y'know? You're such an ass! Why do you have this stupid thing? Who wears black with brown anyway? What's wrong with you? What are you doing? I can't believe you don't want to see Shannyn's baby. Go get the soda for me. You better not be buying the cheap toilet paper. I can't believe you took such a big bite. I'd never do that to you (digs nails into the skin of my arm). Let's go! I didn't get up at 6:30 to be late! Why are you going this way? This is a stupid way to go. I hate cinnamon gum! Is that all you have? Why is it so hot in here? I can't believe you don't have a vent in your bathroom. Turn on the A/C! I'm hot. I don't care, my hormones are still out of wack from the pregnancy, remember? God, you don't have any money. What are we going to do all weekend? You only have one can of diet Pepsi? That's hilarious. I'm glad I asked. We have to stop at the store. You only have soy milk? Eew, your concoctions look disgusting. Gross! Your cats are so annoying. How do you put up with them? They kept me up all night. Where did you get this comforter? It's so Little House on the Prairie! God, you paid $50 for it? Why are your lights on so low? You can turn this up, y'know! I can't believe you didn't know what that was for! God, what are you going to do with a Master's degree in English anyway? What do you have to be stressed about? What do you have to keep track of anyway, you don't have a family or even a job!...."

On and on it goes (and my sister has been here for eighteen hours). My sister is so hostile towards me. It hurts to be rejected and so disapproved of by the one soul I'd have hoped would have my back when no one else did--my twin sister. It seems the perfect match down to the same DNA, doesn't it stand to reason that we'd be made for each other, of each other? And yet it is simply not so. Intellectually I know I needn't take her abuse personally, but in my heart I know no other way to take it. It hurts. I don't know how to stop it from hurting except by not caring and I'm not there yet. Apathy, not rage is the opposite of love.

So here I stand, between rage and love, wanting apathy instead of this. Today (and every day) any mark of dissent is vehemently opposed by violent outbursts and uncontrollable rage. I don't know what to do with myself nor with this puddle of anger drawing higher and higher up around my ankles, my face overcome with pallidness, my heart heavy from the weight of expectation and resentment. My arms seem to cross as if by themselves, a protective stance assumes its place in my body. I feel not unlike myself, yet only moments ago after my acupuncture treatment I was literally abuzz with an energetic calmness, my spirit pulsing through me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. One whiff of "sisterly love" washes over me and I can no longer feel my center.

Poof! So soon does it flee from me that it seems unlikely it was ever there to begin with. We are in the car again, driving to my brother's house and the mood is not good despite our chipper circumstances: balmy Saturday morning, the world spread out before us, coming off of a 90 minute deep tissue massage and a leisurely breakfast in the sun on the terrace at Einstein bagels. I know my sister will be here for only the briefest while, yet I cannot endure it. I don't know how to be--how to put my ego aside long enough to not react. I can't pretend this is okay any longer. This is not okay. It's not okay to be constantly berated in little and small ways. It's not okay to have a cell phone chucked at my head at full speed because the person on the other line isn't doing what my sister wants her to do, isn't saying the "right" thing to appease her and diffuse the rage that has taken over my sister's mind, body and soul and seriously seems to be controlling her from the inside out. No, none of this is okay anymore.

I cannot delude myself one second longer. This is not friendship. This is not love. There is no support. There is no sisterly compassion or understanding. There is no room for compromise or negotiation. There is only a hurt little girl so buried under rage and anger that the joy that is her middle name doesn't stand a chance at emerging over such muck and grime. There is no chance for a healthy relationship between sisters to be nurtured or reignited when it must first be borne of such rage and resentment and in such an unfortunate environment.

I love my sister. I will always have a connection to her, my monozygotic other half. But I am finally standing up for myself and what is right for me. I no longer accept relationships with people who abuse me verbally, physically, emotionally or otherwise. Period. End of story. There is no more room for excuses or second or third or hundredth chances. I love my sister, it's true. But I love myself, too. And it's time for me to love myself enough to not endure that which is unendurable. The pain is simply too deep and the let down too damning. Why give disappointment full reign and resentment more room to fester? Why cry the same old sad song into the same tired ears of those who love me? Why?

I no longer know the answer.

And that is why it's time to stop this messiness with my sister. This is not love. This is not even the opposite of love. This is just anger and abuse and dysfunction clouding the vision of two people who love each other but are clearly not in a place to respond to the love that is buried under the mire of sadness, hurt and rage.

I forgive, but I have not forgotten. And forgiveness does not mean condoning bad behavior or purposefully putting oneself in the line of fire. To me, forgiveness is an opening in one's heart, a letting go of premeditated resentments and expectations of the other person. Forgiveness is a gift I give to myself--to let go of the weight of past resentments and past hurts and to begin to practice the art of acceptance and creative avoidance. I no longer go to the hardware store for milk. And that makes me feel a lot better because I no longer curse the fact that I can't get what I need there. I choose another place to get what I want and it's place I know always has an abundance of what I need in stock. There is no doubt there. And that makes life a lot simpler, and makes me a much healthier woman. The sad thing is that I still miss my sister, or perhaps it's more apt to say I miss the version of my sister I always imagine her to be. And even though that sister isn't exactly real, the pain of losing her or never actually having had her in the first place feels quite real, indeed. And that's the part of me that wants to sneak back into the hardware store to see, just one last time, if there isn't some milk there hidden between the hammers and the nails or tucked in between the light bulbs and extension cords. Just in case.

A Mother's Day Wish

This Mother's Day I spent the late morning with my grandmother and grandfather, and had a brief talk with my mentor on the phone. I'm reading Mother Daughter Wisdom and taking good care of myself. Even though I had a mom growing up (and still have her!), I had to do a lot of mothering of myself and my brother and sister. Addiction kept much of my mother, and even when she was there in a physical sense, the emotional, spiritual and psychological aspects were diluted or altogether missing. I love my mom ceaselessly and I forgive her, but that doesn't mean I continue to put up with hurtful behavior and unnecessary drama. It's time for me to take care of myself and put my own needs before the needs of my mother. In doing so, I prepare myself for the time in which I, too, become a mother. It's no easy road to walk, especially on days like today, but I have little doubt anymore that it is the right one for me and probably my mother, as well, though she has her own path and I can't pretend to know what is right for her.

It's funny, well actually it's sad, but I was downstairs earlier today with my grandparents and their caretaker, Judy, and we were discussing Mother's Day and being a mom. Judy told me (half joking, I hope), "See--the reason you're so happy and full of life is because you ain't a mom yet. Just wait until you have kids and see how them kids make you. Soon you'll be old and miserable like the rest of us!"

Hmph! What a way to feel about motherhood. I know it's a difficult job and that there are lots of sacrifices that must be made again and again until the day you die, but I'd hope that they are sacrifices you do lovingly and in the spirit of nurturing and supporting your life and dreams and those of your children. I'd hate to feel like my kids are responsible for my misery and old age. I know that each of us are 100% responsible for the state of our own lives now and that children depend upon their parents or caretakers for their well-being. They have no choice, really. But as adults it's up to us to assume responsibility for the state of our lives--our well being, our finances, our health and family and all the rest of it. I don't always like to admit it, but by accepting and living from a place of full responsibility for my life now as an adult I come from a stronger place of power and strength, a place of infinite possibilities and creativity rather than being a victim of my past or current circumstances. There's no strength in that.

So Happy Mother's Day to anyone who might be reading this. Do yourself a favor and spend some time today mothering yourself and taking care of your own needs first. You can go back to helping others before yourself another day, but just for today, put yourself first. See how it feels. Sometimes we have to give ourselves what we wish we could get from others, and there's nothing wrong with doing exactly that.

Face Up in the Rain

I slept for ten blissful, uninterrupted hours! It felt great to wake up at 9:30 to bird songs outside my half-opened window and the pitter-pat of soft rain gently falling on the new shoots of lime green grass below. Figgy cuddled in between my feet and nibbled at my nose when he decided it was time to be fed. Zeus quickly followed suit, and soon we three were up and ready for the day, well nourished and rarin' to go. I do, however, have a wickedly sore throat making my voice sound more like Kathleen Turner's than my own.

I am staying inside today, though I did venture out in the morning rain in my bare feet to toss the garbage out and take a moment to stand face-up in the rain. The mom's out there may be gasping with a chorus "This is why you're sick!," but it felt good--bare feet on wet pavement, momentary steps on the puddles and green grass and back inside my cozy apartment.

I love weekends. My intent for today especially is to happily and consciously receive the gift of God's grace. Like a string of pearls laced together along the silky fabric of midnight sky, the stars and planets shine for me, for each of us. Nothing I do or have done, or do not do or have not done, can steal away such moments of grace from my life. Even when others bawk at my next move or reject me in small or not so small ways, I have learned that the universe, the spirit with my heart that some call God loves me unconditionally, and grace is His gift to me. Gently releasing my thoughts of last night's magical sky, I return to my day. Grace is present -- here, now, and always.

Today, Like Every Other Day

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

-Rumi