Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Sister

Apparently I am a horrible sister. I'm not really sure what to do about being a horrible sister and, to be honest, I don't really care. I am also most likely a horrible daughter. At least, that's what my mother probably thinks.

Oddly, I don’t give a damn that I am so horrible. Should I give a damn? I feel like I should, but I can't muster enough emotion to get a reading on the Give-A-Damn-O-Meter. Maybe that’s because I know that I’m not horrible. I’m awesome. My sister and my mom just don’t know it.

Why am I a horrible sister and daughter? I am baffled by the answer. I guess I am a horrible sister and daughter because I can't figure out how to communicate with my sister and mother effectively and in a loving way. Therefore, I choose to minimize communication and face to face contact as much as possible. I've gone through phases in which I experimented with different ways to communicate, but the success of these experiments is akin to that of the Japanese trying to translate Navajo in WWII. And I'm not altogether sure that my mom and sister don't actually speak Navajo.

Part of this “horrible” problem is that I don't particularly like my mother or sister very much. If we weren't related, I would not hang out with them. We would not be friends. I would probably avoid them. I would pity the people that were related to them. I don't enjoy spending time with them. I'm most often embarrassed by being around them in public. The way they treat and talk to and about other people makes my skin crawl. And they don't listen. They just talk. And nothing you say or don't say is what they do or don't want to hear. It's like a big freaking Rubik’s cube that I can't solve. I hate Rubik’s cubes anyway.

My strong dislike of my sister and mother kind of kill my desire to "make it work". Unfortunately, unless we are McCauley Culken, we can't divorce our families. It's not like boyfriends and girlfriends. You can't break up with your mom or your sister.

I don’t want to sound like a total jerk. I feel like I’ve gone to the ends of the earth to figure out how to have good relationships with my sister and mom. I have yet to find anything that works. I try to focus on the good encounters we’ve had, but they are few and far between.

I remember a night earlier this year when I went into my sister’s room and laid on her bed and cried and cried. She just hugged me and wiped away my tears without asking questions. When the tears stopped she told me she loved me and that everything would work out.

There was a night last year when I called my mom on the phone, crying my eyes out. I only called her because everyone else I called didn't answer. It was a last resort. But I called her, and she just listened while I cried and sobbed and couldn't get any words out at all. She didn't offer criticism, or opinions, or I told you so's. She just told me she loved me and that I was strong enough to get through it. And she prayed for me. This blew my mind.

I remember calling my mom several months after my grandma had died and listening in silence as she broke down weeping on the phone, talking about the grief she felt at watching her parents’ things being auctioned off for pennies, like they never existed.

Why is it we can only truly connect with each other when we are feeling our most broken? Our most desperate? Our most afraid? Why is it that tragedy is often the only thing that brings us together?

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This may sounds silly, but I have often pictured my mom and I sitting at a Starbucks drinking lattes.

I imagine that we sit there for hours and talk about life, and laugh, and really get to know each other.

I tell her everything I'm feeling and she offers me wisdom on how to deal with life.

I listen to her talk about how she grew up and the things she experienced and how they made her who she is.

As I listen to her talk, I come to respect her more and understand what she's been through.

I've pictured this scene a lot, but I don't think this picture will ever become a reality. I don't know if that's sad or not. It's just the way it is.

I’m not really sad, because I’ve lived this scene many times over, just not with my mom or my sister. I’ve had many moms and sisters over the years. Whenever I get sad, depressed, or angry about the crappy relationships I have with my sister and mom, I think about my other sisters and moms.

And I think about how they don’t think I’m horrible at all.

They think I’m awesome.

And I think they’re awesome.

That’s how it should be.