I wish my sister would start blogging.
Both my sisters, actually.
Tumorless would have so much interesting material to blog about: any and all aspects of music and theater and theatre and piano and movies and books and shows and Christopher Guest mockumentaries and horror shows and Kodaly and folk dances and Celtic ballets and lemons and cats and costumes and feather boas and ethnic restaurants and Japan. . . . . Her blog would be on the A-list in a week. But she’s too busy, she really is. Mostly, she just teaches and directs shows and plays the piano and says cool sarcastic things and hangs out with me.
It’s my Other Sister who is thinking about starting to blog. I hope she does, for many reasons.
My Other Sister is the parent of a special needs child; actually, she is the parent now of a special needs young man. I want her to realize that she is not alone in her needs for this child, in her longings for this child to succeed at something, in her seeking of someone, anyone, who would understand what her life is like, and maybe someone, somewhere, who might have some advice for her. I also believe that she would have much to say that would be of tremendous benefit to other parents in her situation. My Other Sister is a formidable mother; she has fought for her son all of his life. She’s not afraid to challenge, she’s not afraid to sue, she’s not afraid to speak out, she’s not afraid to petition, and she’s not afraid to stand up for him and his rights. If she started blogging, maybe her example would help other special needs parents.
Other Sister and I have never understood each other, not even when we were children at home. Our mother was driven nearly to despair by Other Sister’s and my total lack of. . . . well, of anything remotely in common. She saw black and I saw white. She saw True/False and I saw Shades of Gray. She’s conservative. She’s horrified by Tumorless’ and my language. She knows nothing of music and books and opera and Christopher Guest mockumentaries. She loves network television shows but she hated Scrubs. She’s highly intelligent and logical. I’m smart and whimsical. I live much of my life in a cloud of fantasy. She is ever grounded in reality. She doesn’t keep dozens of spices in her pantry. She balances her checkbook every month. We don’t dress alike. We don’t talk alike. We don’t really do or have anything alike. Or even similar. It’s incredible that we are even related, but the truth is, we share the same parents and we are only 20 months apart in age. And we have nothing whatsoever in common except for those things.
Her life is insulated on all sides by the special needs of her son. My Other Sister has no life of her own. She has only her son’s life.
I love my Other Sister and I would do anything for her, ANYTHING. The thing is, I don’t know what she wants me to do.
That’s one reason I want her to blog. Maybe, on a blog, she would talk about what she wants from me and Tumorless, and we could help her, or go with her, or be with her, or talk with her about something specific, or bring her something, or watch something. . . . we want to hang out with her, but we don’t know how. She can seldom go anywhere or do anything because her son is ever with her; he can’t be left alone for a moment. But whenever we ask her how we can help, something happens to us all and everybody leaves crying and angry.
Apparently, we are supposed to know what to do for her and for her son instinctively, and she’s angry that we need to be told, and shown.
Maybe, if she had a blog, Tumorless and I could pick up some clues, or cues, or hints, and the next time we saw Other, things would go more smoothly. Maybe, if she had a blog, Other would tell us what she would like to get from us. Maybe, if she had a blog, she could write some of the frustration and anger and grief out of her system. Maybe, if she had a blog, other people in similar circumstances would comment and help and tell her what THEY did in their situation and she would find some respite and some help and some useful information.
Maybe, if she had a blog, Tumorless and I would be able to pick up some information about what Other is thinking about, when she sits silently at our mother’s house when the rest of us are screaming with laughter. Maybe, if she had a blog, Other would let us know what she likes to do, and where she likes to go, and how we could somehow manage it with her son always along.
Maybe, if she had a blog, she would explain to us why she is often furious with us but won’t tell us why.
Maybe, if she had a blog, Other would talk about how she wishes we and the rest of the world would treat her son. She believes that Tumorless and I, and our mother, should just KNOW how to do that, but we don’t, and that makes her furious, too. We would like to know, but we need for her to tell us in no uncertain terms, and we need for her to be consistent, because sometimes we do one thing and it’s good, and then we’ll do it again and suddenly it’s NOT GOOD and she’s angry again.
Maybe, if she had a blog, some of this frustration and confusion could be put to rest, and we could get along. We will never have much in common, personality-wise and taste-wise, but we are sisters and I love her and nothing will ever change that. I want to get to know Other but I don’t know how to approach her. She’s easily offended and Tumorless and I never know what will set her off. I think her nerves are shot, and I would give anything to be able to lend a hand to her but whenever either of us reaches out, we’re shot down.
Maybe, if Other Sister had a blog, she would write about all of these things and the Blogosphere would reach out to her and help her in ways her sisters don’t seem to be able to. . . .
I love you, Other Sister. I always have. Maybe you don’t even realize that I almost always leave your presence with a migraine and tears; I suspect you leave me in much the same way. I want to help you, but I don’t know how. I love you, and I respect you, but most of the time, I don’t even feel as if I know you very well.
But I want to.
Please start blogging and tell me about yourself?
Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly