I am an only child

I am grumpy this morning. I read another blogger’s post about her sister. It unfortunately reminded me that I have a sister of my own. I don’t like to acknowledge that I do. I haven’t talked to her in years.

We had an OK relationship growing up. I was her big brother and she worshiped me - as was only right. After all she had messed up my perfect gig as an only child. I looked out for her. I helped her with her homework. If she did something wrong and was about to be punished I told my parents I was the real culprit even if I was innocent. Big brothers do that kind of thing.

She grew up, married a real jerk, and somehow had three terrific kids. She and the jerk were constantly broke though. My parents and I were called on weekly to bail her out of one financial mess or another. The gas company cut off service and removed the meter. Help! Kited checks that finally bounced. Help! Repossessed car. Help! And we would give. And give. And give. After all as my father said, we didn’t want her children to suffer and it was only money. But it was actually more than money. There was also the disruption of our own lives while we scrambled to fix hers.

My parents were both in very ill health the last years of their lives. And concern for them brought me back to Houston. BC and I uprooted our happy lives abroad and moved back to the city we hated. Our lives were quickly consumed with driving my parents to doctor’s appointments, pushing wheelchairs, changing diapers, maintaining oxygen machines, and bedside vigils when they were hospitalized. I could have used my sister’s help. I needed her to take over for an hour or two so that BC and I could escape to a restaurant occasionally. Instead I had to hire a professional sitter. My sister would show up only when she needed money.

Finally I had enough. I turned off the money tap. I told her that our dying parents couldn’t afford her and that I wouldn’t give her another dime of my own either. Her infrequent visits dwindled even more. My father died. And the last year of my mother’s life my sister never once visited or called. BC and I scrambled to make up excuses to my mother. Big brothers do that kind of thing.

God may forgive her. I choose not to. I can't excuse the hurt she caused my parents.

When my mother’s obituary appeared in the newspaper it read that she was survived by two loving sons, BC and I, and three grandchildren. There was no mention of my sister. I wrote that obituary.