Sibling Spirit
Jun. 14th, 2001 10:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
azurite"Do you have any brothers or sisters? How do you think they have affected your life? Are you a different person because of them?"
Ehh... dorky title, I know. Oh well. Better than "This Week's Theme." I was waiting for one I could actually write about, because I've pretty much shorted out all my rants and raves, now that school is out and I squirmed myself out of that blasted summer program. I already complained about the obtuseness of my parent's minds, so here we go...
I USED to have a sister. Older sister, by 8 years. Her name was Michelle, and was born on January 21, 1977. She was technically only my half sister, seeing as we both had different dads.
I remember how she used to say she hated me because I had a dad. Sometimes my dad was really nice, and her jealousy was obvious. But I was the squirt; in my eyes, she had much better perks, being older, first-born that kinda thing. She'd also sometimes mention why my mom and dad were divorced- my dad was a jackass who couldn't control himself.
Now that I think about that, I'm thinking it really applies to both of my parents. But my mom wasn't as different back then as she is now. Maybe she's "gotten better" a little bit. But she's still angry, lonely, and... angry. I can't speak for her, but that's what I think. Just typical of me to think that she missed Michelle more than she would had it been me.
Why all the past tense? My sister is dead. If you couldn't tell. I don't mean to be horrifically blunt -well, actually, I guess I do- but I don't mind talking about my sister. Heck, that's why I'm writing this, right?
But that's off on a tangent. How has she affected my life? When she was alive, she was my role model. She taught me by words, by actions. What to do and what not to do. I had the opportunity to observe from her mistakes. Maybe I learned a little bit, maybe I didn't.
I think she made the biggest impact on me when she died, July 20th, 1996. "The Year Of Hell", as I nicknamed it. The year right before I went into middle school. You see, I was counting on Michelle -Mickey, as I called her- for advice. But one weekend I spent with my dad and his girlfriend of almost 7 years turned into so much havoc-- my mother crying hysterically over the phone, my dad's almost angry and shocked voice as he called my house (which I still live in) to find out what was wrong. When I finally got called back inside, I knew -KNEW- that something bad had happened. I tried to smile, ask if she had just broken her leg or something. She'd been in accidents before -loved biking to the extent of getting hit by someone who opened their car door right into her- but always came out fine. But not this time.
She decided to go hiking with her friend Rayanna at the Land's End. Its name tells you everything, doesn't it? It literally is Land's End -an opening in rock, like a cave. Near Cliff House a cliff that just cuts off. My dad told me it was this cave near Cliff House that we'd once gone to, but I found out it was further northwest, in what is now a roped-off area north of Ocean Beach, in San Francisco, CA. The wonderful idiots of the Park & Rec service didn't put a fence between the cliff edge and the rocks ... or the craggy beach some 200 feet below. She fell.
For months I tormented myself-- I regretted not saying anything to her before I left, didn't tell her to be careful, or that I loved her, appreciated her, and needed her to be there for me. People think that you can't truly connect on any similar level with older people. I couldn't with my mom at the time, and still can't. I could with my sister.
She was about to enter her 2nd year of college. She wanted a promising career in film making. She was good at it, too. Weird, but enthusiastic, passionate, and intelligent.
My 6th grade English teacher was my personal hero the year after that. She helped me develop a "diary" of sorts-- "to Michelle" that I would give to my Mom. I didn't work on it as much as I should have, but I finally finished it and gave the green spiral notebook to my mom; she loved it.
I dedicated every story I wrote to her. "An Angel". I'd never been very religious; I celebrated more Jewish holidays than Christian, even though my semi-Christian mother was the one I lived with 5 days a week. I visited my family in Los Angeles/San Diego more often, because everyone from my dad's side was rich, "normal" and lived on the West Coast. My mom's side, from what I heard, was not that well off, a bit messed up in the head, and all scattered on the East Coast. That part hasn't changed. Even though I'm technically not Jewish, my mom not being of the religion, and me refusing to get a bat mitzvah because I'd have to transfer schools to learn Hebrew...
But both me and my mom are different people now. It's hard to believe how much someone can mean to you-- even when you fight with them every day, argue... ignore them, envy them. People have asked me if I have siblings, and almost automatically, I reply yes, an older sister. But now, I have to say, "No, I'm an Only Child." It's a very lonely title. "Lonely Child" is more like it. I guess I lost a lot of my youth when I lost my sister. She was helping me grow up AND stay young. She paved the way for my future-- she helped me learn to act, sing, and write webpages and stories. She's my "Guardian Angel", no matter what religion I am. But I find it hard to remember her face exactly, or her voice.
I've been asked, if you had the chance to live in paradise for one year, would you, knowing that you wouldn't remember any of it afterwards? What is more important, the memories of the experience or the actual experience? In my opinion, it is the memories. Life IS memories. Memories are vivid, memories are forever. Memories cannot be taken away from you, even if you fall into a coma or get amnesia. They exist within you, even if you try to forget. I've also been asked, if you could go back to any point in time and change a decision you made, what would it be, and why? It's a one way trip; you have no chance to fix any mistakes you make, and if you "correct" your decision, the future in front of you is more likely than not vastly different from the one you know.
I thought that I'd find a way to "save" my sister, but such is the power of God. Like I said, I'm not religious, but things are meant to happen, right? Destiny, fate? Maybe. I'd like to think I plot my own destiny, but my sister is not me, and thus I cannot save her destiny from however she makes it to be. But I could fix my regrets. Say goodbye, tell her how much she means to me. If I knew then what I know now... I'd be the same, just a bit less guilty and suicidal.
She hasn't made me hate myself, or make me wish (too much) that it had been me. She's given me a chance to be independent and free-minded, just like she was. She succeeded, and thanks to her, I believe that I will too.
Maybe it's weird that her old piano (out of tune) is like a shrine to her, with photos, poems, and the funeral cards scattered around her urn, but it helps us remember-- the good and the bad come hand in hand.
Such is the way of life.
Ehh... dorky title, I know. Oh well. Better than "This Week's Theme." I was waiting for one I could actually write about, because I've pretty much shorted out all my rants and raves, now that school is out and I squirmed myself out of that blasted summer program. I already complained about the obtuseness of my parent's minds, so here we go...
I USED to have a sister. Older sister, by 8 years. Her name was Michelle, and was born on January 21, 1977. She was technically only my half sister, seeing as we both had different dads.
I remember how she used to say she hated me because I had a dad. Sometimes my dad was really nice, and her jealousy was obvious. But I was the squirt; in my eyes, she had much better perks, being older, first-born that kinda thing. She'd also sometimes mention why my mom and dad were divorced- my dad was a jackass who couldn't control himself.
Now that I think about that, I'm thinking it really applies to both of my parents. But my mom wasn't as different back then as she is now. Maybe she's "gotten better" a little bit. But she's still angry, lonely, and... angry. I can't speak for her, but that's what I think. Just typical of me to think that she missed Michelle more than she would had it been me.
Why all the past tense? My sister is dead. If you couldn't tell. I don't mean to be horrifically blunt -well, actually, I guess I do- but I don't mind talking about my sister. Heck, that's why I'm writing this, right?
But that's off on a tangent. How has she affected my life? When she was alive, she was my role model. She taught me by words, by actions. What to do and what not to do. I had the opportunity to observe from her mistakes. Maybe I learned a little bit, maybe I didn't.
I think she made the biggest impact on me when she died, July 20th, 1996. "The Year Of Hell", as I nicknamed it. The year right before I went into middle school. You see, I was counting on Michelle -Mickey, as I called her- for advice. But one weekend I spent with my dad and his girlfriend of almost 7 years turned into so much havoc-- my mother crying hysterically over the phone, my dad's almost angry and shocked voice as he called my house (which I still live in) to find out what was wrong. When I finally got called back inside, I knew -KNEW- that something bad had happened. I tried to smile, ask if she had just broken her leg or something. She'd been in accidents before -loved biking to the extent of getting hit by someone who opened their car door right into her- but always came out fine. But not this time.
She decided to go hiking with her friend Rayanna at the Land's End. Its name tells you everything, doesn't it? It literally is Land's End -
For months I tormented myself-- I regretted not saying anything to her before I left, didn't tell her to be careful, or that I loved her, appreciated her, and needed her to be there for me. People think that you can't truly connect on any similar level with older people. I couldn't with my mom at the time, and still can't. I could with my sister.
She was about to enter her 2nd year of college. She wanted a promising career in film making. She was good at it, too. Weird, but enthusiastic, passionate, and intelligent.
My 6th grade English teacher was my personal hero the year after that. She helped me develop a "diary" of sorts-- "to Michelle" that I would give to my Mom. I didn't work on it as much as I should have, but I finally finished it and gave the green spiral notebook to my mom; she loved it.
I dedicated every story I wrote to her. "An Angel". I'd never been very religious; I celebrated more Jewish holidays than Christian, even though my semi-Christian mother was the one I lived with 5 days a week. I visited my family in Los Angeles/San Diego more often, because everyone from my dad's side was rich, "normal" and lived on the West Coast. My mom's side, from what I heard, was not that well off, a bit messed up in the head, and all scattered on the East Coast. That part hasn't changed. Even though I'm technically not Jewish, my mom not being of the religion, and me refusing to get a bat mitzvah because I'd have to transfer schools to learn Hebrew...
But both me and my mom are different people now. It's hard to believe how much someone can mean to you-- even when you fight with them every day, argue... ignore them, envy them. People have asked me if I have siblings, and almost automatically, I reply yes, an older sister. But now, I have to say, "No, I'm an Only Child." It's a very lonely title. "Lonely Child" is more like it. I guess I lost a lot of my youth when I lost my sister. She was helping me grow up AND stay young. She paved the way for my future-- she helped me learn to act, sing, and write webpages and stories. She's my "Guardian Angel", no matter what religion I am. But I find it hard to remember her face exactly, or her voice.
I've been asked, if you had the chance to live in paradise for one year, would you, knowing that you wouldn't remember any of it afterwards? What is more important, the memories of the experience or the actual experience? In my opinion, it is the memories. Life IS memories. Memories are vivid, memories are forever. Memories cannot be taken away from you, even if you fall into a coma or get amnesia. They exist within you, even if you try to forget. I've also been asked, if you could go back to any point in time and change a decision you made, what would it be, and why? It's a one way trip; you have no chance to fix any mistakes you make, and if you "correct" your decision, the future in front of you is more likely than not vastly different from the one you know.
I thought that I'd find a way to "save" my sister, but such is the power of God. Like I said, I'm not religious, but things are meant to happen, right? Destiny, fate? Maybe. I'd like to think I plot my own destiny, but my sister is not me, and thus I cannot save her destiny from however she makes it to be. But I could fix my regrets. Say goodbye, tell her how much she means to me. If I knew then what I know now... I'd be the same, just a bit less guilty and suicidal.
She hasn't made me hate myself, or make me wish (too much) that it had been me. She's given me a chance to be independent and free-minded, just like she was. She succeeded, and thanks to her, I believe that I will too.
Maybe it's weird that her old piano (out of tune) is like a shrine to her, with photos, poems, and the funeral cards scattered around her urn, but it helps us remember-- the good and the bad come hand in hand.
Such is the way of life.
