Cracked: Sugar Coating Part Two

My sister is moving out of my house. There have been too many wrongs between her and other family members to make it right. I do suppose this has been a long time coming.

I recently asked her if she would hate me if I said we couldn’t live together anymore.

 “No”, she said.

{I do have a glorious knack for taking something at face value and turning it into “it’s all good”}

My sister is to me what a grown child would be to a parent. She’s one of my cherished eggs. I have had this feeling for many years. It started when I took my sister out of foster care and into mine. She wasn’t a child, she was 16 and had been living with a very nice family. I was 23, and we all felt that she would be best with me, her family. She has lived away from me and had her own apartments. She started renting my upstairs condo about four years ago. It has been sometimes joyous and at others heartbreaking. The latter weighs heavily on my shoulders now.

What is going on now is not all that different from the change of seasons that is upon us. Today there is a smell in the air of change. I find it to be an almost intoxicating aroma. A mixture of growth and decay at the same time. The meddling of the rotten leaves and fall mold with my still blooming roses. The cool air mixed with the passing days of warmth and moisture. The time of year that feels like we should be preparing for hard times.

Sweet Dee is the baby of the family. She has always been percosious. She was the sweet child who if misunderstood would yank up your prize tulips. She was born in a blizzard. That is probably what fucked things up to begin with. Her father was in the process of leaving us when she was an infant and my mother was under a lot of stress. There was always chaos. She grew up in chaos and lives there today. All this quite frankly is a chapter that I cannot write at the present time.

Last Thursday what started out as regular, “My sister is moving out in January and we will get through this”; turned into a carnival of sorts. Attended by only the creepiest of the clowns, the meanest of bearded ladies and oddities of animal behavior that should not happen in the driveway of your house on Main Street, USA. Things were said that could not be taken back as Dee deliberately hurt people I love out of some emotion that justified her behavior to herself.

Or maybe she just sees red and cannot control the things that come out. I don’t know anymore. I know that her people abuse me. I have had more secret personal dirty laundry come out of the mouths of her boyfriends’ mothers’  than even MY own mother knows of.

And now they all have more.

I don’t know why she continues to misunderstand, but I know I can’t participate in it anylonger.

This week, all I have discussed with my husband are quick details regarding what his plans are for contractors. Meanwhile, I have picked up paint samples and discussed a new stair runner. What I cannot do with any of this is let it just pass by. I have no idea how everybody is going to feel in five years. What I do know is my kids need their Mom. I respect my families’ need for space. I need my space. I need my own room. I need to be in charge a bit.

Dee will move. We will renovate and my husband, Number Three,  will move upstairs. We will all have some room to breathe.

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Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

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