My Oldest Sister: The Hardest Chapter

I was surprised that writing the book wasn’t as difficult as I expected. Before I started, I worried I’d spend hours (days?) staring at a blank screen with an equally blank mind. Not so much.

I’m not saying it was easy. It took persistence (which I’m pretty good at) and patience (which I am not!) But, once I’d gotten a couple of chapters finished, I recognized a similar pattern to the writing experience. Each chapter seemed to evolve through a similar chain of self-talk events: 1) Panic: OMG! I have another chapter to write! 2) Discipline: Just sit down and start. You’ll be okay! 3) Relief: Something has made its way out of my head and onto the screen; there’s something there worth saying!  4) Angst: How is this all going to fit together? Then, finally, 5) Whew! That’s done and not bad. Let’s see what my editor has to say.

Once I understood that process, it became a lot easier to make it through the Panic and Angst stages, knowing that they would pass and there would be something to show for it. Even as I wrote about more and more difficult subjects and phases of the life of my family, there was some sense of comfort in this familiar routine. I knew, if I could just stick it out, I would – eventually – make it to the other side.

That being said, there was one subject I avoided for as long as I could: the fate of my oldest sister, who suffered the worst of my father’s abuse. She lived with the terrible effects as best she could for many years and raised two fantastic children, who are now healthy, happy adults. All the while though, she hid a terrible addiction that eventually took control of her life and her health. Telling that story, in all its gruesome detail, was a difficult task. Doing so in a way that was both honest and compassionate was a challenge. I hope I managed to honor the person she was and the good she did, even as I expressed my own and the family’s dismay and disappointment about her life choices. Her story actually became two chapters: one titled “Pickles” (what our father called her), and the other “Half a Sister,” which talks about her eventual sobriety while in Long Term Care.

I’m not sure I could have written those chapters, or the book overall, without the support of my family. My brother Michael and my sister Marlene, especially, encouraged me to speak the truth. They assured me ours was a story that needed to be told and understood. They assured me that others could benefit and learn from the paths our lives have taken, even my oldest sister. They told me about things that happened before I was born, and from their perspective. They helped me understand my family – and myself – a little bit better.

What I learned from writing about abuse and addiction in my family is that recovery is possible and - only partially - a choice. Not everyone can overcome what they face, especially as children. To some extent, the will to survive and live a healthy life is a matter of capacity. Not all of us have the willingness, ability, or resources to move beyond our early life experiences. While this is sad and frustrating, it’s reality. Recognizing this has helped me become more compassionate toward those whose choices I cannot understand. It's helped me to believe “they’re doing the best they can,” even when I think their “best” is not that great. Then I remember: what I think is just an opinion…and it’s not really very helpful. It’s then that I can move from a place of judgement to an attitude of empathy and, ultimately, greater understanding.