I was so angry at my sister for so long. It was so easy, in the aftermath of our mother's illness and death, to blame her completely for the breakdown between us. But it always takes two to tango. I am as much at fault (if blame is the right paradigm to consider, here) as she is. She absented herself and I dreamed that my need was visible, from thousands of miles away. I thought she should know instinctively that I was caught in the leg-hold trap of the dying parent. And what that would feel like.
I expected her to understand what it is like to truly, finally lose a parent, as an adult (we'd done it as kids, but it is vastly different as an adult). Because she had divorced herself from our mother years before, she could never know that type of loss, close up. (She seemed to understand it when her friends went through it, though.) I thought, with all of our shared experiences, especially with other members of our family, that she would also share this. Apparently I thought that we were identical twins, with shared pain, unknowable knowledge and mistaken identities. I thought the universe would tell her what I needed her to know. Because it seemed that this had happened in the past. Truth or fallacy? Don't know. Was that when we lived in the same time-zone? So that our experiences were more similar? Or was it an accident of conversation that made me feel as though she understood and maybe anticipated my feelings? Or was it just me, projecting the support I needed as coming from my only sibling?
I expected too much of my sister. I don't know when this started, this idealization, this shiny, perfect picture, but it is not the truth. My sister is mortal and has faults and foibles and insecurities. I had always imagined otherwise, that any shortcoming in our relationship was mine; my failure to live up to her example, my weakness, my lack of foresight. I guess I put the balance in our relationship into an equation that said she was right (almost aways) and I was wrong (almost always). I remember as a very young kid agonizing over why she didn't want to play with me. I would ask our mother what I could do to convince her to spend time with me. (Our mother had few suggestions, that I recall, not having had younger siblings, herself--she was a triplet, which may explain why she was so concerned with treating us exactly the same...but that's another therapy session!) I believed without question that I was lacking, not that my sister was thoughtless and rude (and quick with her fists, when we were young). And this mistaken idea followed me into adulthood, as such things do.
What a burden that must have been, to bear the unreasonable expectations of another. I wonder how this shaped her? Did she always feel like she had to keep up with my sky-high expectations of her? Did she feel unable to share insecurities, failures, struggles? Did she feel like she needed to maintain my image of her, wearing uncomfortable armour in battles that were not hers?
I don't know the answers, here. I think that she felt inferior to me, to many. She commented more than once over the years that I was 'the smart one,' better with money, had a 'noble' job. As though there can only be one bright person in a family, that there is only one way to successfully manage money or earn vocational respect. This is a new piece to the puzzle, for me: my sister as vulnerable, as struggling, as unsure.
So it seems now, that the person I have to forgive is myself. I need to let myself off the hook for expecting too much, for believing my childhood myths about my sister. The ones that did not let me seei her as a full person, but only as a caricature of the supler-hero who could ride a two-wheeler before me.
