her name was alice

canon digital rebel xsi

And she has been gone for seven years, although I have only known for about six. That doesn't change things. Nor does the fact that I am not entirely sure exactly when she died.

When the death of my sister was first reported to me over the phone by my Aunt, she believed it to be the 13th of March. I was in LA, literally waiting for people to arrive for lunch as I heard the news, and the year ago part. But then when I was being a bit morbid recently and discovered this website that has listings of people's birth dates, death dates, and social security numbers, I looked up my sister (grandparents, great-grandmother, aunt, and mother). There it said my sister died on the 3rd of March. But it also said my mother was two years younger than she was, so this could be a typo too. I got the impression this site's main focus was geneology. It could generate a letter you could send (along with a fee of about $40), to receive a copy of the original paperwork filed to obtain a social security card for the deceased.

As I said though, it really doesn't matter if it was the 3rd or the 13th or some other day in March in 2003. The fact remains she died, and is gone. I will never see her again. Never talk to her again. Never touch her again. It is still hard to believe.

My sister and I had a turbulent relationship, at best. We never had a true relationship as adults. The last time I saw her, she was 16. We would have some contact when our grandmother died a couple of years later, but nothing again until we were in our late 20's. Then she contacted me on the Internet pretending to be a 17-year old adopted girl from Maine.

I suspected right away it was her. B told me I was paranoid. Thankfully he was sitting next to me when several weeks later she would reveal her true identity on AOL Instant Message on President's Day. The words came across the box, "what if I said I was your sister?"

I moved away from my laptop, slightly terrified to touch the keys. I sat and watched as words scrolled down the screen. They revealed things only the two of us would know. The secrets of sisters.

She really wanted me to call her, and was upset that I wouldn't. In all honesty though she wasn't looking to have a relationship with me, but rather our mother. She thought that she could go through me to get to her. She had no idea what was going on. She couldn't believe that our mother was about to hit bottom, and there wasn't anything either of us could do to stop it. Of course she blamed me for not doing more.

When she got my Mom's contact information she pretty much dropped me like a hot potato. It really was okay. I could tell she hadn't changed. She was still blaming everyone else for her problems. She was living with a man almost as old as our father, and did see how it was a way of rebelling against our mother. I got to talk with him for a little bit over IM. He was an interesting character. He became known as 'bagel boy'.

The last I had heard about my sister when she was alive was a call I got from that same Aunt. I was literally days from moving from Austin, Texas back to the bay area, having no clue how things were going to work out. Surrounded by boxes, I listened as my Aunt explained my sister has Gillian Barr. Apparently my sister had been in contact with my Aunt for a little while. She wanted an Alice in Wonderland doll. My Aunt sent it, but then got suspicious when she asked for another. My sister told my Aunt not to tell me she was sick and living in a nursing home, but then changed her mind when she learned that it was hereditary.

So there I was listening to this, looking around at my life literally packed up around me, thinking that I might get really sick, and probably soon. My Aunt wasn't sure what else to say. Honestly, neither was I. I mean do I thank her for this information?

Of course as soon as I got off the phone I went and consulted Dr. Google. I found a few message boards, and read well into the morning hours. Nothing that I could find said anything about Gillian Barr being hereditary. They didn't know much about this disease, but it was pretty clear that you didn't get it in your genes.

What does happen with this disease is that it paralyzes your body. I realized my sister's psychology had become her physiology. She was paralyzed from moving forward with her life, and was now literally unable to move her body. It was sink or swim time. It was all in her hands.

From what I read, many people recovered from Gillian Barr. Some had a complete recovery, while others had mobility issues of varying degrees which lasted for months to years. I couldn't bring myself to call her. I mean, what do you say to someone who is so manipulative? Also, I was about to take a giant leap of faith, and really couldn't handle any more. Of course I had no idea that within six months she would be gone. Forever.

Please don't misunderstand. I loved my sister. I just couldn't deal with the lies and craziness. She was always changing her story. She would tell me things like she never had epilepsy and that our mother didn't take care of her medical needs. This was insane. I was there on multiple times when my sister had her seizures. And also have memories of my mother trying to figure out what was wrong. There were all kinds of books on our shelves, not to mention many appointments with specialists. Our Mom didn't want to believe my sister had epilepsy. But when the doctor sent her for the EEG, there was no refuting it.

Still it is hard. It isn't helping that Alice mania is upon us with the release of the new Tim Burton film. It is hard not to think of her. I don't regret not having that final conversation. I am sure it would have ended with her hanging up on me after she told me to go F myself.

I always left the door open. I always had hope that she would turn her life around. I believed she was capable of taking responsibility for what happened, and could move forward. I never gave up hope, but now it is gone.



on the night stand :: Alice I Have Been by Melanie Benjamin

how do you process this

canon digital rebel xsi

A couple of days ago I learned that my mother's boyfriend of many years died. This happened several years ago. He was in his 90's, so it wasn't something I didn't expect. And I never expected that anyone would contact me when it happened. The last time I spoke with him was when my mother died (10 years ago). I figured it would probably be the last time I heard from him, and really wasn't sorry about that. I don't recall his words being particularly comforting, although I can't remember much of anything that he said (their relationship had ended a few years before she died, although I don't recall the details).

I am not particularly sad. I am certainly not in denial. Beyond slightly relieved, I don't know what I am. Maybe a little angry?

I have kept this secret for so long. Not that suddenly it will come up in conversation. It is not something that people talk about. There really isn't anyone to talk to about it anyway.

He was married. And her boss. Also the same age as her father. And not that it mattered, but he was also Jewish. Are we having fun yet?

I hadn't really thought of him. And suddenly there were memories that popped into my head. Things I had buried deep inside. Like how I found out about their relationship.

I was just starting high school at a new school where I knew no one. My sister and I had just returned from a summer of visiting our father and grandmother on the east coast. While we were away, my Mom moved us into a different apartment. We knew this was going to happen, it wasn't a big deal. It was just more change. She also informed us she had broken up for good with her boyfriend of many years (we wanted to be happy about this, but it wasn't the first time she had said this).

She told us that her boss was coming to dinner. We really didn't think anything of it beyond that we needed to make sure the house was clean before we left in the morning. Our room didn't have a closet, so we needed to make sure there wasn't any dirty laundry strewn about.

Dinner was fairly uneventful. As per usual, we were told to clean up after we were finished. While we started doing the dishes they disappeared into my mother's room. I figured they had business to discuss. It wasn't until we heard other noises, that we realized what was happening. I still remember staring at my sister, and her staring back at me with what I am sure was the same look of disbelief on my face. Suddenly Bozo (the nickname of my mom's previous boyfriend) didn't look so bad.

We weren't sure what to do. We weren't allowed to leave the apartment without permission. It wasn't the best of neighborhoods, and we were still learning our way around. We more than likely went and hid in our room. I don't think anything more was said about it that night. What more really could be said?

Another thing I remembered was a trip to the movies. It probably happened not too long after the dinner. The four of us went to the movies with the idea that it was something to bond us. Something normal. Something fun. It was far from any of that.

The movie theater was one of those that showed movies that had been out for a while. It was a week night, so there weren't many people there. I've tried to remember the name of the movie, or even the genre, but it is a complete blank. You see, when we arrived at the theater, my mother told us to sit in the row in front of them. And then for the entire movie, the two of them made out behind us. It was disgusting. The noises combined with the wild imagination of a teenage girl were a bad combination. Yet there was no way in a million years I would have turned around. If what I saw hadn't killed me, I am sure my mother would have.

The whole relationship was so complicated. I still feel weird saying anything about it. I know that some people figured it out, and there were a even select few that were told. But as I've said, it isn't something one brings up in polite conversation. Maybe not even in impolite conversation.

I really tried hard not to judge my mother. I can't deny though that this choice did impact our relationship. It probably made us closer in some ways, but mostly it sent mixed messages and severed boundaries.

To make things even more bizarre, my sister ended up in a long-term relationship with a much older man who was also Jewish. Of course she denied that she was acting out the issues in her own childhood.


on the night stand :: When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead.

the aftermath

canon digital rebel xsi

If you read my post from yesterday, you are probably wondering, what the heck happened. I am not even sure where to begin. Much of it is a big blur.

As you may have guessed, I was spared from being sent away; my sister was not as lucky. There was a bit of time (days, maybe a week) before the night that changed everything and my sister boarding a jet plane. For starters, she had to return to the mall and exchange Garfield and company for a winter coat.

There were also discussions as to whether or not this was the right thing. I wasn't really privy to them, but I do believe that my mother talked this over with her boyfriend. My sister, for the record, did not get along with him at all. Needless to say, he didn't have any problems with my Mom's plan, and on some level I do believe his approval gave my Mom the nudge she needed. I hate to say it, but he probably was also influential in my being allowed to stay.

At some point my Mom must have to come to me with the news. When my sister boarded that plane for Newark, she had no idea she wasn't coming back, but I did. I think I thought she knew, but didn't realize until many years later that she didn't. She believed it was just for the holidays. I still have this image of her walking to the gate at the airport in her new light blue puffy coat.

My Mom and I also boarded a plane - for San Francisco. We were staying with relatives who lived in Marin County at the time. I remember all of us joking about my sister being gone. They had never been fans of her either.

Things were going okay, and then suddenly, took a very bizarre turn. In the end, my Aunt, cousin, mother and I ended up at a hotel in Union Square. There was a fight. My Aunt may or may not have fallen down the steps trying to eavesdrop on my mother and Uncle's conversation, and they next thing I knew we were packing it up and driving across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Here's a random factoid. File under strange things I remember. The hotel where we stayed had "H"'s engraved on the towels. I really thought they were pretty and figured out how to write the "H", and used it in my signature from that point forward. Told you - random.

I know that it was weird returning to our apartment. I don't think I fully believed that my sister wasn't coming back. I figured if my mother didn't change her mind, my grandmother might. She was a recent widow, and while misery loves company, even my sister may have been a bit much.

I was told to clean out my sister's room. I remember finding a half-eaten PB&J under the bed. My sister was never a neat freak. I also found something that was like a diary. She didn't write in it much, but apparently had a crush on a boy. I closed the door, and we didn't go in there. My Mom said I could have her TV, but I didn't want it. We probably mailed her the rest of her things, but I have no memory of doing it.

I vaguely recall a phone call wherein it was revealed to my sister that she wasn't returning. That didn't go over well. She was pretty pissed. I couldn't blame her, but was definitely glad to have 3000 miles between us that night.

In an even more bizarre twist, my grandmother insisted that my sister be enrolled in private school. Of course, given her record, that wasn't going to be easy. It turned out though, that a space had opened up suddenly. That it itself was pretty random, but it would turn out that the student who left, was the youngest son of one of my mother's oldest friends, who it turned out was moving to northern California. He would manage to get a girl pregnant before he graduated, so maybe location doesn't matter after a certain point.

My mother and grandmother had come to some kind of agreement. She sent her money every month, even though my father lived with his mother on and off. Again, I wasn't in on all the details. At the same time though, the message being sent was that she was disowned. We rarely talked about my sister. There were no phone calls or letters. I often joked that I was now an oldest and only child. In many ways, I was.

We would move at the end of the school year. After our two years in the Valley, it was time to move up to the West Side, as promised. My Mom bought a brand-new condo with a roof deck. I felt like Cinderella. I think that was when it hit me that she really wasn't coming back. She didn't know our address.

When I started at the new school, I don't think anyone knew I had a sister. It was like this weird secret I had. Of course, eventually someone would ask, and I honestly had no idea what to say. I couldn't exactly explain this. Who would want to be friends with someone like me?

As expected, the story didn't have a happy ending. A couple of years later, my grandmother died. My sister was still a minor, and so my mother's sister agreed to take her in. Instead she robbed my grandmother's estate, and kicked my sister out. I think at that point my father stepped in, but may have also shown her the door. That was a very dark and ugly time. I was out of the house by then, so was spared much of the detail.

At one point though, my sister did call me. I was away at college. She was up to no good of some kind, and I called her on it. She told me to go fuck myself, and hung up. I wouldn't hear her voice again until after our mother died, and the call went pretty much the same way.

I have skimmed over some parts of the story, but you may already know how it ends. My sister died in March of 2003. She was 33-years old. I didn't find out until a year later, although part of me knew. The connection of sisters is powerful.


on the night stand :: Invisible Sisters

the night that changed everything

canon digital rebel xsi

I have no idea what is bringing this to the surface. It happened when I was 15, around the holidays. I couldn't even give you an exact date. But it truly was the night that changed my world forever, even if at the time I didn't realize its impact fully.

Like all incidents of this nature, it didn't just happen. It had been brewing for a while. The holidays were coming, and my Mom wanted to go up north and visit her brother and sister-in-law. My sister, did not want to come.

So my Mom gave her a choice. She could either stay with a friend, or visit the family on the east coast. Of course my sister wanted to stay at home alone - she was 14.

At one point my sister reportedly had found a friend who would take her in for a few days. My Mom wanted names and phone numbers. She wanted to talk to the girl's mother, and make sure everything was on the up and up. I guess it wasn't. So that left a trip to the Garden State to see my father and grandmother. My Mom made it very clear that my sister was too young to stay home alone. There was no way my Mom was serving time for being a negligent parent.

My sister came back to my Mom a few days later and pointed out that she didn't have proper clothing to spend a week in the cold snowy east. She did have a point. In Southern California, you really didn't need more than a jacket, so that's all we had. My Mom agreed, and gave my sister some money to buy a coat. She returned from the mall with stuffed animals, including one for my Mom with a small box of chocolate.

Needless to say, that did not go over well. My sister, I am sure, was surprised. How could our mother not be thrilled with such as gift? There was a huge ugly fight. My sister was sent to her room before my mother killed her.

Later that night we were called to the table for dinner. We were having hot dogs and beans. Why I remember that, I don't know. But what I do remember is that dinner ended with my sister picking up her plate with her unfinished dinner, and flinging it across the table at my mother. She missed, but made her point. And what that, the night that changed everything begun.

Understandably, my Mom was livid. While my mother had seen my sister go after me on many an occasion (including one time where she came home to find my sister sitting on me so that I couldn't breathe), this was the first time my sister had done some physical towards her. My sister fled to her room, and I tried to stay out of the way, cleaning the mess that was left behind. That's how I overheard the phone conversation.

My Mom called my (paternal) grandmother. She said she couldn't do this any longer, and asked if my grandmother would take us in. Yes, us, as in my sister and me. I didn't hear the other end, but it was clear that my grandmother was more than willing. She truly did love us, even if she didn't understand everything that was about to happen.

This is where things get a bit fuzzy. I am not sure when I confronted my Mom about the whole package deal business, but I did. I knew on some level that a one-way trip to New Jersey would be the end of me. I had worked way too hard to come as far as I had, and I couldn't let anything - not even my sister - get in my way. And so I let my Mom have it. I literally felt like I was fighting for my life.

I told my Mom that it wasn't fair. I said that were were two different people. I pointed out that I hadn't done anything wrong. I wanted to go see my Aunt, Uncle, and cousin for Christmas. I hadn't gone to the mall for a coat and come back with a Garfield and Odie doll. I was an honor student at a Catholic school, making straight A's, and keeping myself out of trouble.

Of course through all of this I was yelling and crying. My Mom was not impressed with my theatrics and sent me away to my room. I was so stressed that on the way, my nose started bleeding.

All I remember was that seeing blood streaming down my face, set me off further. I was now inconsolable and crying hysterically in a ball on the floor of my room. I managed to get blood all over the place. It was on the white walls of my room and the light beige carpet, not to mention my face and clothes. My sister must have come out of her room at this point and saw me. I guess I thought I told her what was happening, but maybe I didn't, or she didn't understand me or believe me. I think she tried to help wipe some of the blood up lest my Mom's rage be further fueled.

At some point my Mom came into my room. She saw the blood and her initial reaction was that I was being way overly dramatic, and had tried to kill myself. Of course it felt like she was saying that I couldn't even do that right.


on the night stand :: Bright Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America by Barbara Ehrenreich

back to school

canon digital rebel xsi

It has always amused me when back to school time rolls around, and people talk about how much they have to do to get their kids ready. I think it is because on more than one occasion we literally just showed up. Take for example, when I entered the sixth grade:

The summer before sixth grade we moved to a nearby town. It wasn't that far away, but too far to go back to our school. We spent most of that summer on the east coast with our father and grandmother. I am not even sure the topic of where we were going to school in the fall came up. I just remember that one morning my Mom told us to put on our old uniforms, and get in the car - she didn't want to be late for work.

As it turned out, we were a bit tardy already. For starters, school had started at least a week prior. Also as we noticed students rushing off to class, it was clear we were going to be an interruption. First though, we had to be enrolled.

My Mom explained that she was running late to work, and so was happy to fill out any necessary forms later - just send them home with the girls. Not so fast - you can't just show up with your daughters and enroll them in this Catholic school - we have a waiting list - some family have been on for years.

Clearly my Mom did not get that memo, and she quickly moved from talking to the secretary to the principal, who was a nun. Needless to say she was a bit shocked at my mother's request as well. Again, my Mom cut off her list of why this wasnt going to happen, explaining the job she had to get to, and pulled out my report card.

The principal reviewed it, seeming to calm down with each "A" and glowing comment she read. I remember her looking up, and saying okay, but what about the other one. With some reluctance, my Mom handed over my sister's report card. Let's suffice to say, it was far from glowing.

Now the bargaining began. The principal explained that while she could find room for me, she didn't think the fifth grade (my sister's level) could be as accommodating.

With little hesitation, my mother explained that this was a package deal. If she was willing to accept me, she had to also admit my sister (she didn't have time to go to another school - remember that job she had that was paying for tuition). Yes, the woman had chutzpah.

There was a bit more negotiating, and in the end we were both admitted to Our Lady of Fatima. My sister was basically on super secret probation. As the deal was finalized, I recall the principal looking sternly at my sister, and telling her that she would be watching her. I wanted to pee in my pants by this point.

My mom then took off to her job, and we were each escorted to our new classrooms, where we were introduced, once more, as the new girls in school. I think we may have had some paper and pens, and maybe even a backpack to carry it in. I have a vague memory of our grandmother taking us to K-mart and buying some school supplies for us before we headed home. I am not sure if we had packed lunch though. I think my Mom thought we could buy something at the cafeteria, but alas, this school had none.

Class was already in session, and I felt so out of place. Not only was my uniform the wrong color, it was also the wrong style. In most Catholic elementary schools, girls in first through fifth grades wore a jumper. When you moved into sixth grade, you wore a skirt and blouse. It was a big deal. Oh yeah, great way to start off the school year. Did I mention we missed a week too?^*

Somehow we got uniforms and books. We figured out any missing essential school supplies. Rumors started flying about regarding things my sister was doing down the hall. Notes were starting to arrive home about her bad behavior. To this day, I have no idea exactly what she did, although I did hear some pretty crazy stories from a couple of my classmates that also had siblings in my sister's class. After a few warnings, and last chances, she was asked to leave, or be kicked out. My Mom opted to remove her, and my sister was enrolled at the local public school mid-year.

______________________________________________________________
^*It didn't really matter, as most of my 30 other classmates had been together since the first grade. I was definitely an outsider.

on the night stand :: That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo

this one time at camp - oh wait

canon digital rebel xsi

Recently Adrienne's House posted about how people can get their panties in a knot over what to call spring break. I say it doesn't matter what you call it, you just need to know when it is.

When I was in 5th grade, my Mom signed us up for YMCA camp over spring break. Of course we were in Catholic school, so our break was truly an Easter break. We went home early Holy Thursday, were off on Good Friday, and then back in school the week after Easter.

That Friday night my sister and I rolled up our sleeping bags, and packed up our clothes. We went to bed early as we had to be up first thing to be on the bus that would take us to the mountains for a week.

We arrived shortly after 8, to find the parking lot at the YMCA empty. Where was the bus? Where were the other campers? Were we early? Late?

Several minutes passed, and still there wasn't any sign of anyone. In these situations my sister and I knew better than to say anything, so just sat silently in the back seat, clutching our knapsacks. Around a quarter to nine, one of the staff showed up to open the office. She recognized my Mom, and wondered where we were last week.

That's right, we missed camp because my Mom didn't bother to check the dates. She figured spring break was spring break. And yes, no one from the YMCA called to find out why we didn't show up, despite a single mother paying in full for her two daughters to attend camp.

Honestly, I really wasn't looking forward to going to camp, so wasn't very disappointed. I do think though that that was the Easter we had cold pizza for dinner. I don't remember what she did with us that week. No memory at all.


on the night stand ::Little Bee by Chris Cleave

happy camper

Since Uni-Camp had worked out so well, the next summer we found ourselves at Girl Scout Camp. This was probably my worst camping experience.

To be fair, I really wanted to go to the horseback riding group, but was too young by about 3 months. It sucked. I still joke when B asks me what I want for my birthday - I say a pony. At this group each girl got her own horse for the duration of camp. You learned how to care and ride a horse, and you didn't even have to clean up after it! I couldn't think of a better way to spend two weeks, but as much as I begged, I could not talk my mother into lying about my age.

And so I was sent to the basic group with my sister, who was just a year younger than me. That meant my sister and I were in the same squad. Basic camp sucked. The Girl Scout motto is "be prepared", but clearly the people who ran this place didn't get the memo. We were at the first session and nothing was ready. We spent most of our craft time, sorting out the stuff in the craft room. Crafting was sold as a big part of the session, but I think we came home with a couple of key chains and a leather bookmark.

The main thing we did was clean. If I had wanted to clean, I could have just stayed home. Every morning we were assigned a chore. This was after we had breakfast and a spin of the wheel determined if you cleared, washed, rinsed, dried, put away, swept the floors or got a pass. I think I got a pass once, which statistically doesn't seem possible (the wheel was spun at every meal). In the afternoons, we also cleaned. The most ridiculous thing we did was rake the camp. Our counselors insisted that the rake lines show. It made me so angry. I wrote letters home every day telling my Mom how awful this place was. I also told her the camp counselors were prejudice and hated me.

Then one morning, on my way back from the no-flush toilets, my counselor came up to me and made me promise not to get mad. She went on to tell me that my "bunk mate" had broken my glasses while she was cleaning up her area. The lenses were glass, and one of them had shattered. I didn't own a spare, and so would just have to go blind the rest of camp. Additionally this girl nor her parents nor the camp would be help responsible for the damage caused. I wanted to tell this stupid bitch "do you think my Mom 'won't get mad' when I come home with broken glasses and she has to pay to fix them?!"

But this was going to be the least of my problems. One morning my sister passed out at the morning flag ceremony. Instead of taking her to the nurse, they made her stand again, and finish the flag ceremony. She passed out again.

They figured she was just hungry and so took her into the dining hall. They once again insisted she stand during the moment of silence, and she passed out a third time, hitting her head on the window, breaking a glass pane. Actually I think she had a seizure at this point. Finally they decided she should go to the nurse. I started crying and got out of eating my oatmeal.

Since my sister seemed fine, they didn't bother to call my Mom or even take her off site to a doctor. They figured she was just hungry and maybe stressed. Of course I wrote home about it. And this time my Mom took action.

She showed up at the Girl Scout Counsel office when they opened the next morning, and showed them my letter. She demanded to know what was going on. She really wanted to talk to us, but they insisted that she not do so. They told her it would be bad for our morale. They insisted my sister was fine, and said that I was probably just exaggerating about making my sister stand repeatedly when clearly she was not feeling well. I don't know if they threatened to call the police, but amazingly my mother left without talking to us.

What no one realized is that my sister was epileptic. What is really odd is that the first time she had passed out was at a Holy Roller church, where we ended up at the local emergency room. They didn't catch it then. And when we went back (now about 3 years later) for our pre-camp checkup, the nurse remembered us. Still though, they missed it.

Towards the end of camp they had us spend the night up near where the horse camp was. We slept in their rec room. These girls didn't do chores all day. They didn't have to build a fire to take a hot shower. They showered every day, and not every three days like we did. They had a washer and dryer for their clothes - not a washboard and metal tub. They even had toilets that flushed. I was so ready to go home. This was torture - seeing what I couldn't have.

On the last day of camp, while we waited for the buses, we had a final singalong in the mess hall. It turned into one giant cry fest. I found one other girl who couldn't wait to go home. We promised each other we wouldn't cry, but we fell victim to all the estrogen in the room.

I was glad it was over when we arrived back at the pick up point. And once my Mom got over her glad you are back, boy was she angry about my broken eye glasses.

on the night stand :: Ella Sets Sail

campfire stories

I have very mixed feelings about summer camp. I went to several sleep away camps, but only returned to one. I wrote letters home that on at least one occasion caused my mother to show up at the organization's office and demand to speak with us. Oh, how I wish I had those letters.

My first camp experience was Uni-Camp. This camp is run by UCLA, and is for kids who cannot afford to go to camp. My Mom heard about it through a friend at work, and signed up post haste. Two weeks of freedom for a single working Mom - I knew she was excited about such a prospect. But my Mom was also going to miss us (or at least me - sorry couldn't resist).

My Mom had never been given the opportunity to go to camp, coming from a very poor family of seven children. She had no idea what to expect. There was a packing list of what to your campers should bring (and what they should not). We had to borrow sleeping bags and find fresh batteries for the flashlights. We had adequate clothing, but we needed to make a trip to the grocery store for shampoo. It was in the candy aisle that I realized how much our Mom was going to miss us.

I have no idea what possessed her, but she told us to pick out whatever candy we wanted. We never got candy. Well, we bought our own candy with pocket money when we had it, but it was not something that made it on the grocery shopping list.

Needless to say we went a bit overboard. It looked like we were getting a head start on shopping for Trick-or-Treaters - not two girls on their way to summer camp for the first time.

When we got home my Mom divided up the candy and put it in a giant zip top bag. We each packed a full one gallon bag of candy into our duffel bags. She told us we should use the candy to make friends.

When we arrived at camp, the first thing they did was go over the rules. We were told that we could not have any food of any sort in our cabins. In addition to insects, there were other animals, including a camp bear^* (and fellow campers), who might be attracted to said food. Being a rule follower, I turned over my giant bag of candy to my counselor. His eyes got pretty wide when he saw what my mother had allowed me to bring to camp. I suspect he didn't believe the story about it being my Mom's idea.

The candy was kept in a room off the dining hall. It was locked away for safe keeping. My counselor, who went by the moniker, Snow Bird, said any time I wanted it, he would be happy to get it for me - like a fat girl would ever ask for candy. Snow Bird was a student at UCLA, and the only male counselor in the girl's camp. Clearly he had a lot to learn about women.

As camp got into full swing, I forgot all about the candy locked away at the mess hall. I had other things on my mind - like trying to fit in with a bunch of extroverts who hadn't lived such a sheltered life, and who were rule breakers. I was miserable and probably wouldn't have preferred sleeping with the camp bear.

The two weeks dragged on, but finally it was time to go home. On the day we were packing up, Snow Bird brought me my giant stash of candy, still untouched. This was the first time the other girls in my cabin had seen it, and now I was really embarrassed. They didn't believe it was my Mom's idea either.

There was no way I could bring all the candy back home. I knew it would break my mother's heart. So I let the girls have it. I think I got about two pieces.

When I checked in with my sister about her candy, she said had eaten most of it. She had no qualms asking for her candy. She would have eaten all of it, but her counselor started to limit her (despite that she was rail thin). And as far as I remember she didn't share any of it. She had actually had a great time at camp, while I was severely home sick.

They took a photo of all the campers and we were given an 8x10 at the end of camp. I remember a guy walking up to my Mom at the parking lot where we were dropped off. He looked at the photo and remarked that she had the happiest girl camper (referring to me), and the saddest boy camper (referring to my sister). He couldn't have been more wrong. It made me laugh though. I was glad for camp to be over, even if I had surprised myself by being awarded the most improved camper trophy.

----------------------------------------------------
^*There really was a camp bear. He was a very large black grizzly. He showed up on the night of the camp dance. He was out back trying to get into the garbage bin. We were all forced inside until they were sure he was scared off.

I wrote this post to answer the Vox Question of the Day, which I submitted. Thus, it is cross-posted.

on the night stand :: A Couple of Boys Have the Best Week Ever

3288 days later

Nine years ago today, the SF Coroner's office took possession of my 49-year old mother's body. It isn't clear exactly when she died. Phone records indicated she called her father for Father's Day. It took them a few days to find me (I had moved to Austin, Texas and my mother did not update her emergency contact information), so June 21, 1999, was just another day to me. I got up, went to work, ate, and slept in ignorant bliss. I remember making this argument to my therapist - that because I didn't have a reaction to the event when it happened, then it was really senseless to have a reaction now. Grief makes you say (and do) crazy things.

I found out on a Friday night. It was probably around 9pm. I was watching AbFab on the couch in my nightgown. I was tired from a long week at work. My house needed some tidying. What would have otherwise would have been a forgotten night, changed when the doorbell rang. It was the police.

B said he knew right away why they were there. But even when the officer said that it was in regards to my mother, I never went there. I figured she was in trouble of some sort, maybe locked up in a mental hospital at worse, but not dead. I hit the first phase of grief before the words were even out.

And once the words were out, I lost it. I started screaming. Wailing, almost. It was so bad the officer asked B if I had asthma, and was having an attack.

That insanity was broken by the phone ringing. Who could be calling at this hour, on a Friday? It was B's mother. For some reason I answered the phone. I must have been nearest or somehow thought that someone was going to tell me this was all a joke - a very bad one. This was the last person I wanted to talk to. She asked me how I was. I managed to say, not good and passed the phone to B. He took the call in the other room, never telling his mother was was going on in our living room. Yes, he did not mention that my mother was dead.

The officer left. He was accompanied by a woman who I guess was a social worker. I don't know. Her job was basically to give me the information I needed to deal with the body. She said that I could talk to the coroner's office if I had any questions. Actually I had to call them. All I wanted to ask, but didn't, was what kind of questions might those be? I had lots of questions, but I didn't think they were probably appropriate for the coroner.

In talking with this woman, whose name I don't recall, and who most likely I could not pick out of a line up to save my life, my sister came up. In irony of ironies, the last piece of correspondence I received from my mother was a postcard with my sister's address (and the request that I send my estranged sister money for an air conditioning unit). This woman explained that she could have someone go and share the news with her. What she didn't say was that said person would go post haste. My sister was in the eastern time zone, and ended up be awoken by the police at 3am local time. This caused her to call me quite pissed off about the whole incident (not that our mother was dead) as soon as they left.

By this time I had spoken to the coroner's office. I learned that I needed to make arrangements for my mother's body. I also talked to my mother's brother in California, who agreed to tell their father and other siblings. I also talked to his wife, my aunt, who had been friends with my mother since they were 13. She lost it on the phone. My first call was actually to my friend, and former high school teacher, who is a nun. She knew my mom too, and was able to help me figure out a plan of attack, so to speak.

My sister passed over the fact that we hadn't spoken to each other on the phone in about a decade. It didn't even phase her that the last time she had contacted me, she sent me email pretending to be an adopted 17-year old girl from Maine. I actually had a hunch that it was a hoax, but when I told B he said I was paranoid. He wasn't overly amused when my hunches turned out to be correct and she revealed her identity over IM. She was plain angry that I gave her address to the police. This was the purpose of her call - to tell me off!

When I was able to get her on track - our mother was dead, remember - things went downhill pretty quickly. She felt that the body should be cremated and the ashes scattered on the Golden Gate Bridge. [That is totally illegal, by the way.] My mother had disowned my sister when she was 15 and sent her to live with her paternal grandmother. They hadn't seen each other since she was 17 at a lunch which I also attended. They had made some contact recently, but my mother's brain was so pickled, that it is hard to call it a reconciliation. I can't recall how the call ended, but by that point I was completely spent. Life as I knew it would never be the same, and now I had to deal with all this craziness to boot. I wanted to just stay up all night, but B insisted I at least try and sleep.

I woke up the next morning, and B insisted we try and take his car in for service. I followed him in my car, and was not thrilled with the idea of being alone. I remember asking not to be left alone. As it turned out the service center was closed, so we went back to the house and carried on with the day in one car.

We also needed to stop by the office (he had to work), and I had an eye appointment later that afternoon. I believed that canceling it would anger my mother, so didn't call and try to reschedule. In truth, I didn't want to have to say why I needed to cancel.

First, though, we had lunch. We went to this sort of Irish Pub called Faddo. It is actually a chain. There is one in Chicago too. I remember going to the pay phone and calling my therapist to see if he could see me. I had to leave a message, and just said "something bad happened". I didn't have a cell phone, and so had to leave B's office number.

After lunch, which I didn't eat, we went to the office. Technically I worked there too, but part-time, as a contractor. Still, I had no idea what to do with myself. The CEO, my boss, was in, so I went to his office and broke down. I couldn't get the words out before the tears were streaming down my face. He handled it well. He said I could take any time I needed. I think he was a little surprised we were there, but also grateful as there was a release deadline looming. Somehow word did not spread, and so despite it being an office of about a dozen people, many of them had no idea that this happened while I worked there. Ah, life at a start up in the days before the dot boom.

It was then time for the eye doctor. It was a busy Saturday. They left me in the exam room by myself for a few minutes. I just sat there and cried. I was so afraid someone would ask what was the matter with me. Thankfully no one did, because I think I would have lost it.

I arrived at my therapist's office with my eyes still dilated. I remember the first thing I told him was that I had just been to the optometrist, and that I didn't look this bad because I had been crying uncontrollably since I learned about my mother's death.

Over the course of the next few days, things went from crazy to insane. My mother's siblings on the east coast had at one point tried to steal my mother's body. They felt she should be buried with their mother in a Catholic cemetery in New Jersey, and that I should foot the bill for an Irish wake complete with free-flowing alcohol. I guess they forgot that my mother had just lost her life to alcoholism. What they didn't even take into account was that my mother was converting to Judaism. I was never able to determine how far she had gotten, but at one point she had made arrangements at a Jewish cemetery. She later asked for her money back, and when I called in inquire was met with "you don't have a Jewish name" and basically told to get lost.

In the end, my mother was cremated and buried in the same plot as her mother (and her father and his second wife and possibly my sister). There was a funeral at the church of the Catholic school my sister and I attended for a year. This was the same place where after meeting with the principal, and learning what my sister (who was in first grade at the time) was up to, left the meeting and passed out on the front steps of the school, blocking out what she had been told because it was so awful.

I did not attend the funeral. I can only imagine what this group of people said about a woman they didn't know. About a woman who when she was able, helped out her siblings in every way she could, but when she tried to get her life back, they turned their back on her. I am sure it was a giant guilt festival -something my mother would have hated - but I felt like she probably wouldn't have attended unless it was for the humor of it all.

My aunt and uncle in California did go to the funeral home, but didn't attend the funeral either. They pushed the button for the cremation, and then went across the street to an Irish pub to toast her. I ended up in that same pub when we returned to the Bay Area after B got his MBA. There was a gathering of the interns summering in San Francisco, and we met up at a bar in North Beach . When that got too crowded, we moved the party. We walked a few blocks to Green Street, and as we turned the corner, I realized where we were, even though I had never been there. And there we were in the bar my Aunt described. I freaked out a bit, but somehow got though that night too.

on the night stand :: Motherless Mothers

the dead don't age

Today my sister should have turned 39 years old. I am not sure we would have celebrated together. That hope died with her.

This week is a hard one. Our father's birthday is exactly a week before my sister's. It was made even harder this year as B's 23-year old cousin died on Tuesday. He was found unconscious in his apartment and was stabilized at the hospital, but still unconscious. Then he had a seizure and left this world.

He was studying to be a race car mechanic. I never met him, but it still makes my soul ache for the grief that I know his family, especially his siblings are feeling. The loss of a sibling is something so rarely discussed. If the parents are still living, their grief is certainly deemed greater. If the sibling had a spouse or children, again, these loses seem bigger. It is easy for a sibling to get overlooked despite that the connection of brothers and sisters is true and real.

But rather than focus on all the grief and sadness, I will share this (kind of) funny story:

When we still lived downstairs from our grandparents, our grandmother decided that my sister and I would get our birthday presents together, despite that my birthday was back in March. She took me aside and told me that my sister (a year younger) just wasn't good at seeing me get presents. Thus my grandmother thought it best to just present us with our birthday presents at the same time. (I did get flowers delivered to me on my birthday which was quite a treat.)

The gift issue wasn't a new concept. Alice just didn't like to share. At Christmas, our grandmother gave us two of exactly the same thing. Even if my grandmother got us a board game, she got us two of the exact game. Yes, even if it required two people to play. It was kind of silly and seemed a bit counterproductive - as her sister, I realized Alice needed to learn how to share more gracefully. Still, our grandmother did what she did to help keep the peace.

To make up for my having to wait, I did have some say in things. For our 6th & 7th birthdays, we got new bikes - our first two wheelers. Around my birthday we went to the bike shop to pick them out. Of course, they had to be identical because my grandmother feared that Alice would get jealous somehow if they weren't. We ended up with yellow bikes with banana seats that were covered in a flower print. I know those seats had to be my idea. They had matching baskets, horns and orange flags on the back (for safety). They also had training wheels.

They were great bicycles. Very well made. They eventually were shipped to the West Coast when we moved. I rode mine to school two miles each way in sixth, seventh, and most of eighth grade (until I got a red ten-speed and shortly thereafter was hit by a car when riding it)^*. Some kids made fun of us because of the crazy seats, but they were one of the few things we had that connected us to our grandmother 3000 miles away. She refused to fly, so we only saw her in the summers when visitation clauses in our parents' divorce documents forced us to that city again.

Of course now I realize that part of the reason we had to wait until June was money related. I didn't quite understand the concept of lay away at seven. Still, it is true that my grandmother went out of her way to attempt to keep Alice's jealousy gremlins at bay. I don't know that she was ever good at sharing, but these are things sisters just accept about each other.

I miss my sister in ways I can't explain. In my mind she will always be a skinny blonde haired girl who liked mayonnaise sandwiches and dancing in the rain.

^* I was fine, although I had hit my face with the street pretty hard. I looked like Frankenstein for several weeks, but it didn't keep me out of school or from competing at a cheerleading competition. I called my best friend upon returning from the ER and just announced that I had been hit by a car (without thinking). She freaked out until I told her I would see her at school the next day.


on the night stand :: Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir