My mother, a single mother for 13 years by that point in time had little control over her. I don't think an iron fist would have been able to contain her. It was her way or the highway. And in some ways it still is today.
When I was an infant I got pretty sick, in the end it was my tonsil's who were the culprit and eventually came out. Looking back from what I am told I was eighteen months old.
As the tale has been told, the only person who could ever get me to sleep during that time was my Sissy. If I would cry, she could calm me, if I wouldn't sleep, she would rock me. And once I had completed my recovery she was gone like a ghost. A figment of my imagination. An image I wanted but couldn't have.
It is not that I can remember these events, but this is when it all began. I always wanted her by my side, but she would have rather gone out on a three week crack binge with the latest fool who would foot the bill to look at her beautiful blond hair, and baby blues.
She has always been able to get by on her looks in life, although I would compare her body these days to that of a twelve year old boy. When I reached my teen years unknowing to me she was suffering from HIV, I gave her my hand me down clothes as I grew out of them and she continued to get smaller, and smaller.
Even though I don't remember these days for myself, I have pictures. Family pictures which even include our brother who has since removed himself from it all, as I try daily to do. Unfortunately for me, this pain of an on-again off-again relationship will continue until the inevitable end which will be when our family buries her.
No one wants to bury their sibling, especially the one you are closest with. No parent ever wants to bury their child. No child ever wants to bury a parent prematurely.
- Little Sister
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