the old-school guestbook archives
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sometimes you just need a sister ~ 2001-02-06 - 01:23:06 I woke up so tired and foggy this morning I could hardly move. as I was getting ready to leave the house, my dad said "don't forget your mission tonight." as if. as if I could forget that I'd agreed to go with shannon tonight to have miles put to sleep. it was hard. it was very hard. shannon loved miles tremendously; so did I. he was so smart, so loving, so fluffy and cuddly and full of personality. and so, so sick. I've never had to do this before. I grew up with cats, I've raised my own, but I've never had to be there when one was getting the needle. neither has shannon. we both knew miles wasn't going to get better, and that he was ready to go. neither of us wanted him to suffer. but still. even though it was hard, I'm glad that she asked me. she needed someone to be there with her, someone who knew that it wasn't just a cat. that it was miles. my tough as nails sister asked me to come. told me she couldn't do it alone. we are strong, mcnally women. between me, my sister, and my mom, it's hard to say who has the most force of will. who's the most badass. my sister and I hated each other when we were growing up. we got into knock-down-drag-out fistfights. she has a mental list she keeps of the things I threw at her. the most lethal being a skateboard, aimed at her head. I was the youngest. I got beat up a lot. I learned how to fight, but I was never strong enough to kick shannon's ass. shannon and I made friends when I was nineteen and I took the train out to visit her in eugene, oregon, when she was eight months pregnant with lucas. I didn't find out she was pregnant until two weeks before I went out there. that's how close we were. we lazed around her sunny apartment and ate huge bowls of granola, and I started to pick up her pregnant woman vibe. I started walking like her, and pushing myself up out of chairs. we both had boyfriends named chris at the time. on new year's eve when I was twenty-one, shannon told me she loved me. I got all choked up. "my sister told me she loved me," I kept telling my friends. they didn't get it. they couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that it was the first time she'd ever said that to me. my sister and I laugh a lot when we talk on the phone. clare could always tell when I was talking to her. we have a lot of inside jokes. a lot of them are at my mother's expense. we laugh at the dysfunctions of our family a lot, and we validate each other's reality. the tooth-and-nail kids we were haven't vanished completely. my sister is one of the only people I've lashed out violently at in my adult life, on one horrible night years ago when we got into a screaming fight about how out of control her drinking problem was at the time. lucas, four years old, screaming in the back seat of the car, my sister and I in the front screaming at each other. and when my sister gets drunk, all her unresolved shit comes pouring out and suddenly she's telling me about how privileged my life has been and how our mother loves me and not her and suddenly everything is warped and strange and we're just kids and helpless to control any of the insane shit in our lives, and each of us blames the other for how much pain we are in. my sister knows how to hurt me better than anyone. I don't know how many times I wished her dead as I was growing up. I remember screaming at her once that she didn't deserve to live, and feeling a little bit of a glow when it actually seemed to hurt her. she seemed like a monster, impervious. it's still her voice I hear in my head when somebody stands me up or breaks my heart... you are so ugly, no one will ever love you. I love my sister. I love the strong woman she has become. I love her sharp, sarcastic sense of humor, her unexpected tenderness, her husky cigarette voice, the love she has for her kids. her cats. my tough as nails sister asked me to come with her when she had miles put down. I had tears in my eyes by the time we got to the vet's. in the little room with the examining table, we both broke down. I don't remember the last time I saw my sister cry. not since we were kids, I think. her voice started cracking when she told miles she loved him. we cried and snuffled into paper towels and touched and held and kissed miles and told him what a wonderful kitty he was. we stayed with miles and petted him and loved him while the doctor gave him his shots... one to sedate him, and one to stop his heart. I just started crying again. us tough women, we're easy to forget about. it's easy to believe that we are impervious and self-contained. we believe it ourselves sometimes. I learned a long time ago that when someone said "you're so strong", chances were good that they were going to hurt me. me and shannon are the lucky ones. we know that sometimes, no matter how tough you are, you just need a sister to be there and hold your hand.
(((rings))) |