Survivor Literacy

Sisters- I’m still sorry

My sisters are considerably younger than me. Sister A was born just after I turned 10, and Sister B came along 18 months later. Dad died right in the middle.

Sister A

Sister A always liked me less than she liked my brother. It hurt, but we still had a good relationship, she just really wanted him, or Mom, or Dad before me, and she didn’t like anybody else.

Of course it hurt, but I was also very used to being picked last. By the time I was 10 there was an established pattern, and it really just seemed par for course. I didn’t think it was intentional or malicious, I just knew people kinda didn’t like me.

I felt tolerated, and she was just a baby. I wanted a younger sister so bad. I was elated when I found out that mom was pregnant.

Sister A was born in a birthing center with a doctor and a midwife (mostly the midwife). I attended birthing classes with Mom and Dad, and I was absolutely fascinated. I can still remember my sister’s birth, and just being so impressed with my mom. She was so strong, so able. I’m still in awe.

Mom and I bonded significantly during that pregnancy and birth. It felt like we were really becoming a family.

On the weekends, I would listen for Sister A to wake up and I’d go grab her from the crib upstairs as quietly as I could. I’d get her changed and fed and comfy. We’d hang out, just the two of us watching “The Little Mermaid” and singing along.

It would usually be 10am or later when Mom would wake up, and I know the extra sleep mattered. Mom and Dad slept in different rooms because she couldn’t sleep through his snoring. At least that’s what we were told. I know it hurt his feelings. Nevertheless, Mom was much cooler if she woke up on her own, and I loved the peace of the morning, so I wanted it to last as long as it could.

We already discussed the trial-by-fire bonding that Sister A and I experienced when we moved back to Colorado. We had a good relationship. She just liked Mom and Wes more.

With how much she didn’t like Grandma and Grandpa I felt much less tolerated and much more preferred. (As I’m editing this post, this line really hits me. It makes me connect with that very human drive, when we feel oppressed, to feel validated when someone else is oppressed more. It makes us somehow feel like we matter more. I know it made me feel better.)

Sister A was also very much a daddy’s girl, and he was so in love with his baby. She lost her rock when he died, and nothing about it made sense. She was just starting to say “Mama,” and “Dada.” She couldn’t express her grief, anger, frustration, or confusion. She was just cared for by the people who remained. I can only imagine this incredible a loss at this stage of development.

She couldn’t remember him, but she knew that she was mad about it. I watched this trauma response become her personality.

She’s distrusting and judgmental. She doesn’t like people and openly expresses her disdain. She has a masterful side eye, and can look irritated, annoyed, and disappointed all at once.

I’m not saying that she doesn’t smile, laugh, or feel joy. I’ve seen it, and she still does. I’m saying she doesn’t come from a place of joy. She doesn’t give others the benefit of the doubt. She has a suspicious nature. She holds grudges. She was raised to.

In her younger years, Sister A had a very high standard for herself. Her schoolwork had to be perfect, and she didn’t approach herself with forgiveness. She carried a defensiveness with a bite to it, much like a cornered animal.

Sister B

Sister B arrived about 8 months after Dad died. We were all excited for her, but there was no way to avoid it being bittersweet. I helped Mom through the pregnancy and labor.

We were once again living at Grandma and Grandpa’s and the entire home became baby ready. I think Mom weaned Sister B around 6 months, and she went back to working with Grandpa.

I don’t know all of the ins and outs of it, but I know that Grandpa could get a whole lot more done with Mom there, and they worked a LOT.

Sister B was very much my baby. She preferred me the way that Sister A had preferred my brother. It felt like it brought balance to the force.

I’d take them for stroller walks around the neighborhood, and we’d stop and visit with our elderly neighbors. I played with them, and taught them stuff.

Babies are sponges, and they love using their little mushy brains. My mom was also really good at fostering development in babies. She had a preoccupation with milestones, and all of her babies had to reach all of those milestones before our cousins.

Mom got a lot of social feedback and clout from having babies who developed faster. It was valued, and the cousins were definitely reminded how they didn’t measure up. My favorite aunt called my cousins her “little mental giants,” or she would say “yup, that’s my genius.”

I fed them, and fixed their owies. I rocked them to sleep. I sang to comfort them.

Mom and I would bathe the babies together, tag teaming it. Mom was awesome at bathing babies and knew how to keep them calm and interested. She did baby massage with an oil she made herself squeezing the goods out of vitamin e and d capsules and mixing the blend with either mineral oil or cornhuskers oil.

I can remember how alert the babies always were during the massage. You can watch them respond to each touch, almost like watching their little nervous systems wire itself together.

She would brush their hair with the fuzzy little baby brush, and put them in comfy jammies (although the baby sacs still had a cord at the bottom).

She would delight in the intoxicating peace of afterbath feeding, and it was magical to even be allowed in these moments. After weaning, we got to take bedtime feeding turns too.

Mom was gone a lot, and coming from farm people it was pretty natural to have the expectation that the older kids would step up a bit.

The House

Mom bought the house up the street, and shortly thereafter my brother got really into drugs. He wasn’t around to babysit much.

After she bought the house, Mom went through a brief period of relief. She really believed that with just a little distance between her and her parents she could make it all work. At that point, she was still thinking about our futures, and she was actively being a mom.

She was trying to hold it all together, and move on with 4 kids and a broken heart.

Once she bought that house she lost herself in landscaping the yard. It gave her something she loved that she could hyperfocus on. I did not love being outside as much, and caring for my sisters gave me a free pass from other labor expectations. You cannot dig a hole and change a diaper at the same time.

I still helped in the yard, but it was mostly Mom. Every once in a while there would be a family labor day. Mom would get a trailer load of manure or compost or hay and we would all get to unload it.

I loved family labor days. Working together as a family is one of the best feelings. Adults would be joking and in good moods. I knew what to do to receive approval for the day. I happen to love digging, shoveling, and pitching hay.

The day was spent in praise and humor, sunshine and stims. Grandma would take over child care for the day, and we’d all be whooped by the end of it.

Grandma made a big show of how babies were no big deal, but when she was left alone with them it was always tense when we got back. They never listened well enough, and I think she was old, and tired, and didn’t have the spoons to give, but still had to.

When we would finish for the day, I would immediately take over the kids, and Mom would take over cooking dinner. Nobody ever said anything about it, because the norm for us is to jump in when needed.

As time went by, Mom withdrew more, and I took over more responsibilities. By the time Sister B was a toddler, I was doing dinner, baths, bedtime, and everything pretty much on my own.