This is the hardest subject for me to write about. It stirs up so much sadness in my heart.
I'm hoping that writing will ease some of that guilt, sadness, grief.
Grab some tissues if you are going to read it anyway.
The idea for it has been on my heart for a long time. Every year I pay tribute to what we shared. What was, what no longer is, what I wish still was. Remembering how beautiful, innocent, pure plus a lot more, she was.
Having a very sharp memory can be a double-edged sword. It can cut me to my core at times. Though I could will myself to forget, live without some memories, would I want to?
Pertaining to people, it would seem like a betrayal. It would especially seem like a betrayal if the bond we shared was strong, loving in a healthy way. Also, if the person has passed on.
Knowing that some people will be irked when someone says they are spiritual, not religious, idgaf.
I'm spiritual, not religious.
Religion is a man-made construct. Constructed by men to control the population. Especially to control women & children. Until the power of the patriarchy is balanced with the divine feminine, religion will rule.
The many negative experiences I have had with religious organizations have made me turn away from that which only hurts me. I allowed it, I realize this. So, I turned away from it.
Having had spiritual experiences for my whole life, as a child it was what I knew, figured everyone else did, too. When I spoke to my mother about it she came down on me like a flaming hot eruption.
My mother had beautiful bright red hair with the temperament to match it.
That day, at the tender age of six years, it was driven into me that most or maybe all people had a different life experience.
Could I have been the only one in the world?
Given my mothers reaction, I realized it was best to say less about it.
With all of this said, the feelings I had the first time I saw my younger sister, she was just 4 days of age. Dressed in a white sleeper with little pink satin bows on it. Her eyes were blue as most newborns are, with long dark thick eyelashes. Her lips were like tiny pink seashells with a perfect little pink button nose. She was laying in a crib, making those sweet noises that many newborns make. Her head was a perfect sphere with a light covering of fine golden hair.
I thought she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. She opened her eyes, looked straight into mine. She started breathing audibly which sounded like ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh.
In that moment, I felt as though she had been given to me to love, to protect, to comfort in sadness, to share life with her.
It felt like she was my responsibility which I gladly accepted.
My maternal grandmother, Elsie Kendall, was there with my mother, helping her to get settled in with her new baby. Grma Kendall could be very harsh at times, speak some strong words in a scary tone of voice.
Whatever Grma Kendall was or wasn't, I knew from an early age that she loved me. Speaking harshly was her way. It's doubtful that she realized just how scary she could seem, especially to a child.
Baby skin is so soft, so lovely to the touch. I just wanted to touch the little angel who, after all, was my responsibility. My mother was sitting in a comfortable chair in the living room with Grma fussing over her, making something for her to eat, waiting on her. Mom was her youngest of five daughters. I reached through the bars of the baby crib to stroke her tiny arm. Then, I was busted!
Grma was right next to me in an instant.
"Brenda, don't touch the baby, you'll get your germs all over her."
I was banished to my bedroom after that. It wasn't clear for how long.
Waiting until Grma left the house to come out, I went back to the baby crib. The baby wasn't there!
OH NO!
I went to the living room, she wasn't there, either.
I felt a bit of panic at the thought that she was my responsibility, I had failed to protect her! Really, I was almost a baby, myself.
From my parents bedroom, I heard the baby softly cooing. My mother was setting up a small changing table with the baby laying on my parents bed.
I peeked in, mom called out, "The coast is clear, the witch is gone."
She went into the kitchen to get a baby bottle, came back, then asked me if I wanted to give "the little piglet" her food.
A bit harsh, yet, I was so happy to be able to hold this little one.
That was just the start.
It was a very happy thing for me, to help with this sweet little baby.
My sister, Julie, and I shared a bed. From the start, I never had a bedroom to myself, I didn't even have a bed of my own. When my mother was expecting her 6th baby, Julie wasn't even 2 years of age. Yah, there were no fertility issues on either side of my large family.
She was placed in the bed with me to prepare for the next baby who would need the crib.
Julie and I would talk a lot, play, even get into trouble together at times. When our father tried to give Julie a beating with his leather belt, I stood in front of her to take it for her. Sometimes, I wasn't around or wasn't quick enough. I would put a cold washcloth on the red & purple welts on her skin, welts from our father beating her for any infraction. His answer to everything was to beat us with his belt. I had exactly one conversation with him that didn't end with a beating.
I held & comforted Julie as she sobbed herself to sleep. At just 3 years of age.
No child of any age deserved that, no matter what.
Sure, Julie and I fought sometimes, argued sometimes, as most siblings do. I still loved her deeply though she got on my nerves
occasionally.
One time, when our mother had the flu, I took Julie to school with me. She sat in the classroom, coloring or playing with some toys as I answered the teachers' questions as part of the school day. When we went to have lunch or outside for recess, she rode on my back like a cute little monkey. She giggled, sang & chewed on my hair.
As time went by, I began making plans to get out on my own. I had seen other relatives get out on their own only to go back to their parents, almost ashamed that they couldn't handle the adult world.
NOT ME.
My plan was to get out on my own, never go back to my parents' home, never to feel the embarrassment of being unable to make it on my own. Coupled with the harsh reality that my parents were severely abusive. Just one aspect of my father was that his answer to everything was to whip off his thick leather belt then beat the offending child until the child passed out from the pain or he became tired from beating the child. I still have scars all over my body from the severe beatings he inflicted on me. He was a raging alcoholic for most of my childhood. He never told me he loved me, not even once. He would be so drunk, he would sit at the kitchen table until 2 or 3 am telling all of us we made his life a living hell. He would put the business end of a firearm in his mouth, finger tensely on the trigger, threatening to blow his brains out while we all looked on in horror. 2 -4 hours at a time.
After so much of this, regularly, I was willing to tack a blanket to the wall behind him then encourage him to just get it over with. Blow his brains out, I was even willing to clean up the mess he made.
My mother was physically abusive at times; her abuse was more mental/emotional than anything.
She often told me "I only put food in your gut & a roof over your head because I have to. I don't even like you." Thanks, mom.
On top of that, my parents were both heavy cigarette smokers. When 2 of my brothers began smoking, they bought their cigarettes for them. The house & all of us who lived there reeked of that awful odor. When the sun shone into the house through a window, there was always a layer toward the ceiling, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Often, I retreated into the bedroom I shared with my 2 sisters to get at least a little a bit of distance from the stench.
There were active-duty military people from all branches, visiting the area high schools. It sounded good to me! As good as it sounded, I was still scared of getting out on my own. I was a bit shy, unsure, hoping to keep from making a big mistake.
As it turned out, that one decision was the deciding factor of my life.
Still, I was afraid of not just getting out on my own, I was afraid for my sister because I wouldn't be there to protect her.
Knowing I needed to give it serious thought, I used some money I had earned from babysitting to go to Florida to visit my aunt. The plan was to go for a visit, clear my head, think it over.
Arriving back in Michigan from Florida, I decided to go through with it. My mother looked up a USAF recruiter. The wheels were set in motion. I was set to leave in June of that year for USAF BMT.
When I told Julie the news, she broke down in sobs that I was leaving. After that she became very bratty, very combative toward me.
That was something I didn't expect.
Because Julie was 7 years younger than me, if I retaliated when she got into my things or spit on me or anything else, I would get in trouble for it.
It became so troublesome that I called the USAF recruiter, asked him if he could get me to USAF BMT any sooner. He told me that he would check on it, then call me back.
Two days later, he called. He asked me if I could be "good to go" in 6 days. April 28th couldn't come fast enough!
YIPPPPEEEEEE!
Yes!
The plan was set; he booked my airfare from Michigan to Texas. Moving forward, the plan was made, I was on my way to freedom.
Not quite.
All I knew was that this was a sure plan to get out on my own with somewhat of a safety net in place. In the military training, food, housing plus basic pay was all provided. Of course, a lot is expected of a person. I felt that I could handle it.
Julie cried when I told her. She was less bratty, plus, I was out of the house a lot spending time with friends, making preparations to leave.
Being free to determine most aspects of my life for myself. The guy who was my first love, who I still love, had started smoking cigarettes. It was a crushing pain for me.
The modern epidemic equivalent is "Vaping" or Hookah. People who start those damaging addictions have to be missing more than just a few hundred brain cells. Most likely they have the attitude that they can quit when they want to. An, "It happens to everyone else, not me" attitude. Killing themselves slowly. Parents who never get to watch their children succeed in life.
So deeply sad. So senseless.
Still, it's difficult for me to understand why people start smoking. Start using any tobacco products. All of the information as to how it damages people's health, is out there. All of the people who began smoking as teenagers or in their early 20s then find it impossible to quit even when they know it's slowly killing them, is out there. Many people still pick up the disgusting nicotine addiction. Everyone I have ever spoken to about it has regretted starting smoking.
Not me.
I have other vices. Vices, just the same.
When I was at BMT, things moved so fast, they kept us very busy all day every day. When the trainees weren't busy, they were too tired to think of anything else. Some people did become very homesick, cried silently in their bed at night.
Not me.
It was a happy feeling to be out on my own. To know that it was my choice to carry through, to have my basic needs taken care of so that I would be able to get out of my parents' home, stay out on my own. Those were such fun times.
Peppered with unwanted attention often even assaults from the guys I encountered, at the first base I went to.
Hickam AFB, Hawai'i.
It was brand new from being a dumpy, skinny kid from a dysfunctional home to being admired for my figure, light green eyes, strawberry blonde hair.
As exciting as it was, it was also frightening at times.
The feeling of being the hunted prey, stalked by predatory males who all wanted to get whatever they thought they could from me. They got far less than they bragged about. The made-up stories of sexual escapades. If I had been doing all that was said, I would have had no time to work, sleep, have a meal or much else.
In my naivete', I didn't even know how babies were born.
That's a bit of backstory.
Life with our parents became rougher for Julie, after that. She did have mental health challenges. After their abuse of me, so did I. It was not until I was 29 years of age, started doing things the way my parents had, that I realized so many things. Then, I told myself - HELL, NO! A really good friend, Nancy, helped me find a good counselor, even took care of my 2 precious daughters when I went to counselor appointments. The counselor recommended ECT aka Electro Convulsive therapy. I was willing to do almost anything to be a good mother for my children, I loved them that much.
I had 4 ECT treatments spaced 1 month apart to gage the effectiveness.
I will be grateful to Nancy, forever.
Our parents explained Julies mental health problems as being anything & everything except the way they abused her.
One day, Julie & our mother got into a fist fight over the last Pepsi in the fridge. They wanted to drive far away, drop her off, make her fend for herself. She was barely 15. Instead, I asked them to give her airfare to live with me. At that time, I was married, had a 5-month-old baby, living in Hawai'i.
Things were good at first as most things usually are.
The male I was married to was very mean to Julie behind my back. I had to enroll her in High School. She began going to a religious class before school in the mornings, then rode home with them.
Then, she began sneaking out to the military barracks, having group sex with the military guys. I had the military police go to the barracks where she was to bring her home & tell the guys how much trouble they would be in if they or anyone allowed this again as she was a minor.
Julie was furious with me, told me I was a prude, didn't know how to have a good time now that I was so fat & married no one wanted me.
Thanks, sis.
She spewed some terrible insults at me; I still loved her so much.
It was when I found her about to abuse my baby, then defended herself with saying that my baby was only half Caucasian, so it didn't matter. Then she told me that I had only married a Filipino guy because I couldn't get a white guy to marry me.
WOW
It hurt very deeply, I took her mental health & being 15 into account.
People may scoff at me, she was my sister, I still loved her.
As much as I loved her, I had to protect my baby.
The next time she snuck out of the house, I made arrangements for her to live somewhere else. When she came to the house to get her belongings, I went into another room, closed the door. Even with other people there, she yelled some very crass insults at me. I stayed silent, held my baby close to me, unable to hold my tears back.
I felt like such a failure.
Julie was flown back to Michigan. We didn't have contact for a few years. When I was expecting my second baby, a dear friend had flown me in for her wedding. I went to a local church, Julie was there. She had gained about 70 lbs.
At first it was cordial, nice. With Julie, that's how she was. We were both smiling. holding hands when a photo was taken. Afterward she leaned over said, "Ya know you are getting really fat, you ought to lose some weight." I told her I was almost 8 months along. She called me a liar, plus a few other choice names. I just walked away.
Not to engage in a battle of wits with her when she had no ammo.
Again it was a few years before we saw each other.
The next time she came to live with me, my daughters were almost 2 years & 5 years.
SSDD
Then, it was 10 years before we were in touch again. I wouldn't let her live with me, again. When we were living at Howard AFB, The Republic of Panama' Julie got in touch with me. We began writing letters to each other. Then the USAF began to allow military people & their families to have brief phone calls back & forth as a goodwill effort to keep morale up.
Julie told me that she had been "with" a guy for 7 years. She knew how I felt about shacking up. Then, she confessed to me that, that is what she had been doing. I told her that if she & her guy got married, I would bring my family to Utah for her wedding.
Her guy proposed & the wedding date was set.
The way he proposed was so sweet. He re-enacted it for us when we arrived in Utah for the upcoming wedding.
He called a radio station, asked them to play Waiting For A Girl Like You by Foreigner. So that it would seem random, surprising Julie.
When the song started, he was ready. He lip synched & used ASL to the song. When the song was over, he got down on one knee, asked her to marry him.
I loved it. Quite a genius move. Preston was like that. I was so happy for Julie, that she had a guy who loved her so much. He sure did. That sort of guy is rare, in my experience.
It was a simple, very beautiful wedding. Telling the truth, she was huge. People she went to church with made a dress for her. It was a big white tent with huge sleeves & a neck hole. 4'11" 600 lbs.
No matter what, she was still my sister, my responsibility, I loved her.
We stayed with a family that had been our friends for a long time. I went with Julie to a craft store; she showed me what type of bridal headpiece she wanted. We bought the elements for me to make it. It would have cost over $100. to buy it already made. It cost only $25. for the supplies. Having become an excellent seamstress, have made a few wedding dresses, bridal veils. Made nearly all of my childrens clothing plus some of my own.
It was beautiful & Julie loved it.
I made her wedding cake, one of our aunts sent her a topper.
The wedding was outdoors, in a public park, under an arch, decorated with silk flowers & ivy.
The ladies that were her friends, sang as she walked to meet Preston, her groom, then say their vows.
As I said, it was simple, it was beautiful. Those two loved each other more than any bride & groom I ever saw up to that date.
Howard AFB, Republic of Panama'. was in drawdown; we had to return to Howard AFB, soon after that.
Julie & I kept in touch.
She continued to gain weight, was nearly 700 lbs when she called me one day, saying that a doctor wanted to do an experimental procedure to help her "breathe better". The truth was that she couldn't breathe because her stomach was so enormous, that it compressed her lungs.
Also, her heart.
That night, I was on my knees, sobbing, praying for my sister. I felt a bit of warmth, looked up, there was an entity which I believe was a messenger angel. He told me to tell Julie to not have the procedure done on her. I called Julie the next morning to tell her of the visitation. That she should not have the procedure done.
She laughed at me; told me I was "nutso to the max".
Two days later she had the procedure.
Her husband, Preston, called me from Utah, where I was living in Colorado, Springs, CO.
It was right before some ladies were going to have a birthday party for me. It was also the day one of my daughters, not naming them, was breaking every rule, so she was expelled from summer camp. I had just arrived home from bringing my misbehaving teen daughter from summer camp.
The home phone rang, it was Julie's husband, Preston. He asked me if I was sitting down. Then he told me that Julie, my baby sister who I loved so much, who was my responsibility had her procedure. Soon afterward, she had passed on.
I let out a piercing wail from thee shock & grief that terrified our 120 lb Doberman! He was trembling when I found him cowering under my bed.
I made arrangements to get bereavement airfare from Delta airlines.
I tried to call friends who we had stayed with when we were there for Julie & Preston's wedding. I couldn't get ahold of them.
When I landed in Utah, I finally was able to reach my friend.
She & her family had been at a park, they were leaving in 2 days to go on a vacation.
Julie's death was so sudden, so unexpected. I paid a bit for air fare, didn't think about money for a hotel.
I was a bit shocked that my friend wouldn't let me stay in her house, after she left on vacation, though I understood. Personally, I would allow someone to stay in my home even if I wasn't there. I realize that it's how I am, though not everyone is so understanding, so willing to help others. I'm far less willing to help others than I used to be. After feeling like my giving nature was being exploited.
A friend of Julie's who I didn't know, allowed me to sleep on her sofa while I was there.
I was determined to give Julie a beautiful funeral. It was the last loving kindness I could do for her. She was only 32.
She & her husband had been married 2 years, neither one of them had money or life insurance. The people at Julies church let me use the office phone for local and long-distance calls. I spent the next 10 hours calling family & friends for cash donations to bury my sister. Her husband was so grief stricken.
Every couple of hours, he came to me sobbing, needing to be comforted. Again, I consoled him for my sister.
I raised $12K, we were still short of $8K to bury her which her church donated.
It was such a humbling experience.
The funeral WAS beautiful. Our sister Diane, with her husband & our brother, Gordon & his wife along with our father made the drive from Michigan to Utah for the funeral.
Our mother had died a few years, earlier. She died at a young age. The youngest of five daughters, the first one to die.
A direct result of a lifetime of chain smoking & a self-inflicted life of turmoil from acting on impulse, bad decisions
I was so happy to have them there. There was family strife, tension. It was put mostly to the side during as well as after the funeral.
Our sister, Diane, was a great comfort to me. I was just as devastated as Julies husband. I had to be strong. Could collapse after I got back to Colorado, had to put a brave face on until then.
Julie was so large, a casket had to be modified to fit her enormous body. That was expensive, took a couple days. The church where the funeral service was, was so full, cars were parked around the block, the overflow room in the chapel had to be opened. People at her church printed a beautiful program for the service.
Our sister, Diane, who has one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard wanted so much to sing at the service. She felt so much emotional pain she told me as much as she wanted to, she couldn't get through the song, she was grieving, too.
She had loved Julie, so much, too.
As much as I loved Julie, tried so hard, I couldn't save her. I felt like I was such a miserable failure. Like I had failed in my responsibility.
Before Julie's casket was closed & sealed, I made a promise to her, sobbing, tears streaming down, that I would make sure she was remembered as long as I lived.
After the service there was a potluck brunch. I had no appetite. Neither did my sister or the rest of the family from Michigan. Because of the family strife, only our sister, Diane would spend time with me. She and I played in the pool by their hotel. She wanted to get some ice cream with me, her treat. I was deeply grateful. Diane was now, my only blood sister. She's such a fun person to spend time with. So loving with clear boundaries. It's part of why I chose her to take to Mackinac Island, stay at The Grand Hotel. Paid for nearly all of it. When Diane wanted to do kindnesses for me or for us, I accepted it. It's important to bless others as well as cheerfully receiving blessings from others.
Julie loved mac & cheese. She loved the way I made it. She also loved red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.
Every year, on her birthday, I have that for lunch. I sing Happy Birthday to her with tears coursing down my face.
Keeping my promise, because keeping promises is very important to me, I remember her on August 29, every year.
Although I feel like I failed her, I still remember, still love her.
