I’m not sure I could have been any more of a broken person than the first two months after my little sister died. She had lived with me, during times of crisis, when I was 23, 24 and 25 and working in various cities. We shared a bedroom when she was two and I was nine, until she was five and I was twelve. We had a very close bond. I was struggling over whether or not to end my own life, because to go on without her seemed inconceivable to me.
Then I discovered that I’d become pregnant on the very weekend of her suicide. I was on the coast, camping with my boyfriend, when she took her own life.
Six weeks later, when I found out I was pregnant, my boyfriend and I decided to marry for the sake of appearances. Even though we had been together for several years, I had never met his parents. When I met them, I finally understood why.
They were loud, judgmental, bossy, obnoxious, ignorant.
My mother drove with me to Albuquerque to meet them for our first time.
After the evening of our first meeting, my mother and I drove back to the hotel room together, not speaking much, if at all. She had been uncomfortable during the visit with my soon to be new inlaws, throwing angry glances at me whenever she could, while my future in laws barked advice at us, which sounded more like military orders. Telling us where to live, how to live, how to plan the wedding, how to do everything.
When my mother and I returned to the motel room, after the vist, I sat at the end of my bed, physically frozen in shock, pondering the horrifying life that lay before me. My mother, snuggled up under the covers of her bed and began to criticize me for staying silent and not speaking up to my future in laws that I had just met. I was kind of thinking the same about her but I said nothing.
I sat at the end of my bed, staring blankly at the wall, still in shock after meeting my in-laws, wondering how to get out of my trap. We were going to be living in the same town as these people.
Then, Mom groaned and said, “I feel so guilty for thinking this, but I’m glad that I can finally remodel our bathroom. Marilyn was costing us so much money.”
I remained frozen for a long time. I didn’t want to believe what I had just heard. I didn’t move, didn’t respond. I’m not sure if I even breathed. I was still pondering how I could live without my sister to share this earth with me.
I sat there silently, for what seemed an eternity, until I could gather my strength to get up from my bed. I finally pushed myself off the end of the bed, without ever turning to look at my mother and walked straight into the bathroom and filled the tub, sinking myself into the hottest bath that I’ve ever taken, wanting to escape the chill from the words I’d just heard.
Mom got her double sinks and jacuzzi tub within a year.
I bought $8 worth of shiny white material and made my own ill fitted wedding dress, determined not to cost my mother a cent. I had basic sewing skills, but no experience. I did my best. My big sister laughed at my dress. Her wedding was huge and very expensive, with many bridesmaid dresses, a huge wedding cake, the whole shebang.
My mother never gave us a wedding gift either, despite that we stayed married for two years, which I never thought about before and never would have mentioned, except for the following:
I learned that my daughter threw the check I left for her, for her wedding dress, as a surprise, across the kitchen table. It was a check for $3000, left in a card with a note that it was for her wedding dress. I learned she tossed it across the table and grunted, as if displeased. I got this from a reliable source. My daughter never thanked me or mentioned the $3000, just as she never mentioned the many thousands I had sent to her in the past.
She finds a way to insult me if she can’t ignore me. When I sent her $1000 as a wedding gift, and received no response, I inquired and she jumped down my throat. It was during the pandemic and I was in a hurry to get the money to her, because my grandson also needed immediate help. I had only one stamp, one envelope and even sent a warning explaining to them it was all coming in one envelope.
She said she and her new husband were furious that I sent it without a card and intended to “pay back every cent one day”. This, from a daughter who hasn’t sent a christmas, birthday or mother’s day card, not even so much as a text, in over twenty years, despite that I have not neglected to send her a card, with a sizable check, every christmas and birthday, with a card, and with no response. Her angry response to that gift was yet another big slap in the face. There have been so many.
Upon reflection it seems that the more I send her, the more insulting she becomes. There’s no pleasing her and it’s heartbreaking.
The wedding veil belonged to my maternal grandmother. She took a ship to Europe and bought the veil in Italy. It’s made from venetian lace.
After the wedding, I never returned to my mother’s house where the wedding was held and forgot about the dress and veil. The dress fell apart of course, which didn’t matter to me one bit. But the veil was ruined, spotted with large brown stains now, which is a shame because it would have been something special to be handed down.
I continue to try and remove the stain from the veil, which I finally retrieved after my mother’s demise.
Oikos 