Two years later, my baby sister was born. She has almost the same birthday as me and I didn’t know what to think about that. By this time, John and I knew it was not to be a time of celebration to have another sibling after what had been going on with Brian. There was no excitement from us about another sibling in our life. In fact, our thoughts were more along the lines of here we go again.
She came home at Christmastime in a stocking from the hospital. It was all very cute. I was not allowed to touch her. My parents named her Hannah. This was yet another kid in the mix who didn’t belong. I felt sorry for her. John’s rage was already out of control so her arrival did not make it worse. Nor did it make anything better in our house.
And I had to watch this magical bond grow between my sister and my mother because they were more like the mother and daughter relationships I had seen in the movies. They looked alike. They acted alike. They bonded in a way I had not bonded with my mother. It was hard to watch. It changed me. I became unlovable in my own mind. If my own mother couldn’t love and accept me then who would?
I loved my baby sister though. Once she grew into a toddler, we became close. I played with her for hours. Her favorite was horsey. Yes, I would pretend to be a horse for my sister and make her laugh. I’d also perform puppet shows for her. It was great fun. Brian would sometimes be present for the puppet shows, but I really performed them for Hannah.
My Mom would read to Hannah and tell her stories at night. My mother never did that for me. I have not one memory of her reading to me as a child. Hannah says our mother read to her until she was in grade school. I have no memory of this.
There are a lot of things I have no memory of growing up. I have huge gaps in my memory. I suppose this might be a blessing. And then there are things I wish I could forget that will not go away. I’d like to have them leave my memory and that’s a strong motivation for me writing this blog. It’s a strong desire to lose the pull these memories have over me.
No more siblings to introduce. This was the highly dysfunctional family I grew up in to make me who I am today. Writing this all down has been bringing up all the old feelings of hurt and betrayal I felt growing up. I guess that would be expected writing about these things. Suddenly I’m feeling like a little girl again and that wasn’t always a good space for me to be in. Maybe that’s what is needed is for me to go back and form new opinions from an adult perspective. Maybe then I can become the woman I’m supposed to be today.