The Emily in me, a beginning to more writing about my sister

Approaching the one year anniversary. Over and over again, telling myself that this is real, that I will never see her in person again. It still feels impossible, like I will wake up from a bad dream. But I know this can’t be a bad dream, because I also know that if the tragedy didn’t happen, Tavi wasn’t conceived, or born. If this were all a dream, this whole year, I never would have gotten married or moved to El Cerrito. I would do ANYTHING to turn back time or travel back in time and make Emily still be alive. ANYTHING. But it happened. It fucking happened. WTF.

That’s the Emily in me at Barnes and Nobles, when I look around at everything and see possibility, excitement, creative inspiration. When I decide to buy the entire three seasons of Downton Abbey for Lena, even though it’s expensive. That’s the sort of gift Emily wouldn’t think twice about buying. As most gifts were. But tv show gifts, in particular.

That’s the Emily in me when I lie on the floor and let Bean lick my face. Not caring if it’s germy or dirty, or where her tongue has been. Just feeling the love.

That’s the Emily in me when I think up new ideas for teaching my students. When I am in awe of their 11 year old brains. When I want to get carried away with YA stories, right alongside them.

I try to see her when I look in the mirror. I think she could have been much more beautiful than me. I always wanted her to have health, have a fullness to her. She was deteriorating for so long. The mark of illness and poverty were there, on her face.

Lose

Stupid Sara Levy. It's not fair that she "won." She's out there, being happy with her husband and adorable children, being smart and rich, having a sister, a brother and two parents. Being recognized and praised for her creativity. FUCK YOU SARA LEVY. You hurt my sister. She was gonna prove you wrong one day. She would publish her YA novel and become famous and live an exciting life and you would just grow old and fat and unhappy in your marriage... But instead, you got the last fucking word. You're a fucking evil bitch and I hate you. I hate you because you hurt my Emily. I hate you because you didn't come to the funeral. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Words fail

People have told me many times in my life that I'm a "good writer," which I guess means that my writing flows well, or expressions emotions, or is clear. But I wish I could be a "good writer" in the sense of being able to find the words to work through my grief right now. I wish I could write out, in words, the loss I've experienced, and that by doing so, somehow, I could heal myself. Maybe that will come later in the grief process -- months or years from now. In the meantime, all I can say is OW. Something hurts BAD. A chunk of my innards has been removed. Something has gone terribly wrong, like I fell into a bad dream and haven't been able to wake up from it. And even though positive things also happen in this "dream" (getting married, becoming a parent), it is still a nightmare that I've found myself in.

Maybe I can never really find words that express what the loss of my one and only sister means to me. Maybe all I can do is keep looking for similes and metaphors, even though they'll never quite suffice. What is it liking losing your sister? It's like you've been plucked out of a life you thought made sense and plopped into one that makes no sense at all. It's like being told you can never drink water or breathe air again, but somehow, you'll keep living.

This must be the most depressing blog ever

So it is probably a good thing no one else is really reading it.

Somehow, though, writing it in blog form rather than journal form makes me feel like I can share it more easily if I need to.

I just watched "Love, Actually" which I remember having liked when I first saw it (in like 2003), and this time it just came off as pretty sappy and unrealistic. But what really stood out to me, even though it was only a very small part of the movie, was the relationships between the sibling characters. Hugh Grant's character played the Prime Minister and his sister was played by Emma Thompson and at one point they hugged and Emma Thompson's character was so glad to see him. And in other scenes, Laura Linney's character was helping her brother, who was institutionalized (probably schizophrenic), and she just had so much love for him, she was willing to sacrifice her own chance at happiness.

I feel like I would have sacrificed almost anything for my sister. And I feel like I miss her not only now, in the present, but I miss her future, older than 37 year old self, who I'll never know. And I miss not being able to call her on the phone one day or go out for coffee with her when I'm 56 or 63 or even 91. She'll never be there any of those times. And by then, my life will look a lot different, even, than it does now. I'll have grown up kids. One day, hopefully, I'll have been with Lena longer than I even knew my sister. Longer than 34 years.

I always thought she would be there with me in my old age. Obviously it's hard now, without her, but I can't imagine what it will be like when my parents are gone and she's gone and I'm the only original Salzfass left. The thought of it gives me chills. I have such deep sorrow in my chest and stomach.

I should really go to sleep because of course I will be woken up several times tonight by the crying baby, even if I don't end up having to get up to make her stop crying (which is unlikely.) But I don't want to sleep because I don't feel satisfied. I did a day-of-maternity-leave's work, I guess, but my mind feels less than stimulated. I hate that the only friend I really feel like I ever want to call is Nora.

"Hi it's me, your sister," she used to say.
"I love you." She used to say.

Why does life have to be so fucking full of pain right now.

Thanksgivikah

Tonight is the first night of Hanukah, and the eve before Thanksgiving. The holidays are going ahead, as planned, even though my family and I don't want to celebrate this year. I should really be going to sleep, considering I will soon be awakened by a screaming baby. But I am worried that if I don't vent some of my grief before I lie down, it'll surge up in me again, and I'll feel that lump and have to sob. And I guess it's better NOT to do that in bed, because Lena needs to get her sleep, too.

The good news about today is that I had a good conversation with Nora (even though we kept getting disconnected) and she told me that really, my melasma is not such a big deal, and reiterated what Lena and Emily have told me over and over again about how it's really not even that noticeable, and I've decided to believe her, and to move in the direction of acceptance of how I look. I have to remind myself that it is NOT worth it to miss out on all of the fun I used to have outdoors or to be so obsessive about the things I should and shouldn't eat. It's just not worth it. So I am going to try to let it go a little bit, maybe bit by bit.

Howard, my therapist, told me that he has noticed an interested dichotomy within me -- a struggle between the wiser "big sister" I have inside and the fearful "little sister" who is my inner child. I think that was apt. I think that Jeanne helped me identify that the wiser part of me exists in the first place. She helped me learn a lot about how this part of me is wise, is capable, is emotionally stable. But she didn't abolish the fearful child. This fearful child still comes out as insecurity, as impulsivity, as impatience, as over-emotionality. She worries about being judged, constantly. She worries that she can't make it in the world without her big sister. She worries that she'll never be happy. She worries about everything, really. And somehow she is so loud and so convincing that the wiser part of me gets drowned out sometimes. Gets set aside. Fear wins, over and over again. How come being aware of this doesn't actually fix it? What would it take to actually decide to be the wise, older sister? Why am I so stubborn and unwilling to do this yet?

Maybe there is a part of me that feels like if I become "the big sister" in this way, that I am dishonoring Emily, or acting as though I don't need her. I DO need her.

Maybe this is my life's journey, trusting myself and being my own mentor, my own guide.

But oh, I miss my sister so much. Tomorrow is going to be hard. My mom will be distracted by the babies, but I will see the sadness in her eyes. It will come through my father as fatigue. I know that there are many things for which I should be, and am, grateful. I am grateful to have such loving, supporting parents who are still with me. I am grateful to have an amazing wife. I am grateful for Tavi, who is becoming more and more my daughter every day. I am grateful for my health, and the health of the people I love. I'm grateful that I have a best friend who really understands and loves me. I am grateful that I have a job that pays well, that I'm good at, and that brings me (some, if not entire) satisfaction.

Emily Emily Emily wherever you are, know that I love you so much and that I hold you so close inside my heart and that I will never, ever forget what a loving, precious, brilliant soul you are.

After All

I should really be sleeping right now, because the baby is, and because I'm gonna have to get up again in like, an hour or 2 when she starts crying and needs to be brought to the "Milk Bar" and get fed again. But my grief is keeping me awake. It's raining outside, which I like, but definitely brings emotions to the surface (not that they were far below the surface otherwise.) Thanksgiving is lurking behind me with an aura of impending doom. I don't want to celebrate. I should be, but I'm not feeling very thankful. I miss my sister and there is no Thanksgiving without her.

I remember last year at Thanksgiving we were at Jill's house and Emily was pretty low affect and depressed and Lena and I announced our upcoming wedding. She didn't seem happy for me, honestly. She just seemed sad. Which I understand. I imagined the upcoming year, 2013, would be much different than it actually has turned out to be. I imagined my sister would be here. I imagined *I* would be the one getting pregnant and giving birth. I imagined being my same self, married and a parent, sure, but not this deeply wrecked person I feel I've become.

When am I gonna feel happiness again?
I imagine it's inside me somewhere, a low flicker of a flame, and that it can grow again if given appropriate room and oxygen. When, though, I don't know.

Fucking Thanksgiving. MIL will be in town and I just want to be able to get out and go shopping at Bay Street with my cool, stylish sister who loves me. I don't know where else to escape to. Or who.

Had some little fantasies about jumping on a plane to go see Nora, the closest I have to a sister on this physical earth. But now that I'm a parent, I can't do irresponsible things like that. I'm tied down. And tonight it was feeling like, it's a good thing this baby is tying me down, tying me to the world and to life, because otherwise I would have even more sick fantasies of stabbing myself in the chest and turning the knife clockwise. I know I have to live this fucking painful life I've been given, or that I've chosen, and not only that, but I have to live it WELL, for Tavi's sake. And for the sake of Baby #2. As Dar Williams put it, "'Cause when you live in a world, well it gets into who you thought you'd be. And now I laugh at how the world changed me, I guess life chose me, after all."

Here's the whole song:

Go ahead, push your luck
Find out how much love the world can hold
Once upon a time I had control
And reined my soul in tight
Well the whole truth
It's like the story of a wave unfurled
But I held the evil of the world
So I stopped the tide
Froze it up from inside
And it felt like a winter machine 
That you go through and then
You catch your breath and winter starts again
And everyone else is spring bound

And when I chose to live
There was no joy
It's just a line I crossed
I wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found

And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
So I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them

Growing up, my mom had a room full of books
and hid away in there
The father raging down a spiral stair
'Til he found someone
Most days his son
And sometimes I think 
My father, too, was a refugee
I know they tried to keep their pain from me
They could not see what it was for

But now I'm sleeping fine
Sometimes the truth is like a second chance
I am the daughter of a great romance
And they are the children of the war 

Well the sun rose 
So many colors, it nearly broke my heart
It worked me over like a work of art
And I was part of all that

So go ahead, push your luck
Say what it is you gotta say to me
We will push on into that mystery
And it'll push right back
And there are worse things than that
Cause for every price
And every penance that I could think of
It's better to have fallen in love
Than never to have fallen at all

'Cause when you live in a world 
Well it gets into who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all

Just another series of naps

I am sitting on the couch with Lena while she breastfeeds and watches Sister Wives. I think Emily would have appreciated this show, but maybe would have been bored with it, too, as I am. On the other hand, she never really seemed to be bored by any TV. She had so much love and patience for it.

It is so weird how time has changed so significantly since three weeks ago. There is no more go-to-sleep-at-night-and-wake-up-in-the-morning. There is only a series of naps, sometimes shorter, sometimes longer. Lena says she can handle the sleep deprivation better than I can because of the hormones, because Tavi came from her body. She is also more paranoid about Tavi's well-being -- whether she's cold, for example. I mean, I am a concerned parent, and I'm the one who wants to buy all kinds of infant monitors, but I really do think there is something unique between bio-mom and bio-baby that can't be replicated. And I mean, as Tavi grows up, we'll have our own strong, special connection. A different connection. And that's okay. I'm becoming more okay with that. I don't like to hear anyone tell me that things are "different' for non-bio and bio mom, but on some level, I believe that in my own heart.

I am still developing a love for this little crying, suckling, peeing, pooping being. I look at her and wonder, WHO ARE YOU? And WHO WILL YOU BECOME? And I wonder, will you know Emily? I have heard of babies who grow up never having met a loved one, but knowing them in some way. Wouldn't that be so lovely?

Well it's 9:30 so I should probably start heading to bed for nap #1. The one nice thing about sleeping in a separate bedroom from Lena is that I get to sleep with Bean in my spoon, just like the old days. It is so comforting.

Did I mention I miss my sister?

So I have been thinking about starting a blog about being "the non bio lesbian mom" and today I actually made it to the step of going online to start doing it and when I went to blogspot I was reminded that I ALREADY HAVE A BLOG!

So I started reading through my old entries, and was reminded of what my life was like back before working at private school, before Lena, before losing Emily, before motherhood. I can't believe how much has changed in three years.

And when I read the comments from Sab I got emotional.

And so now I've decided that instead of blogging about being a non-bio lesbian mom right now, I want to blog about my sister.

I miss her so, so much.

I wonder if it could really be therapeutic to write about her.

Most of the time, when I think about her, I try to shift my mind's focus, because it's all just too sad and impossible and awful. Especially when I'm lying in bed at night just before falling asleep, and all of my defenses are down, and grief can come like a wave unobstructed and wash over me.

But then I also wonder whether this is the path to healing. My sister was a writer, and there's a writer in me too. She was a blogger, and her life, to a large extent, was about her online community. I want an online community. And maybe blogging will help me feel closer to her, or at least closer to her experience.

I am writing this as I sit on the futon in the office/guest room of our new, suburban home. It has been converted into a bed because of the baby and the need for separate night shifts and off-duty shifts for Lena and me. Emily slept on this futon several times. I remember her coming to visit me when I lived on Warfield Avenue near the lake. I would pick her up from Oakland airport and she would be smoking a cigarette as my car pulled up. Then she'd get in the car and I would smell her -- the smoke and the unwashedness, and I would immediately think, "Oh my gosh, is it possible she got even skinnier since last time?" but she'd be upbeat and we'd have a quick hug and I'd say "let's do X, Y, and Z things" and she'd say "sure" and we'd go back home to my apartment and we'd make the bed for her and she'd just have brought a little bag with like, 1 or 2 changes of clothes and would have forgotten her toothbrush but would have definitely remembered her little laptop so she could stay up half the night watching her "shows." The laptop was sort of sticky, I think.

We'd maybe watch a movie together or some episodes of The Office or something and maybe eat some take out Thai food from down the street, and eventually I'd go to sleep. She used to tuck me in, which I really liked. I felt really safe, and good knowing she was up, sitting on the futon in the room next door with Bean, watching shows and eating whatever snacks she could find in my kitchen. In the morning, I would wake her up earlier than she would like, but if I brought a large black coffee from Starbucks, all would be forgiven. Emily was a regular at every Starbucks.

So then she'd get up and we'd go eat brunch and she'd eat some sort of egg dish with bacon and hashbrowns and drink more coffee and we'd talk about who we were dating and what projects she was working on and how teaching had been going for me. And then she'd want to leave a big tip and we'd go walking up and down Lakeshore Avenue, popping into trendy little shops and she'd find some excuse to buy SOMETHING (there was always a need to buy something) and she would pick out the cutest thing that she absolutely couldn't afford but would buy anyway. And then we'd go back home. And then maybe go out clothes shopping. Emily was the BEST person to take clothes shopping, especially to thrift stores where she could always find gems that would otherwise go unnoticed.

These were the days that I had a sister. They were the days before I became a vampire, afraid of the sun. The days I always knew someone was there for me when I needed her -- someone who knew me, sometimes, better than I know myself. The days before love and marriage, before motherhood, when all there was hope for a bright future, a future I never imagined would turn out this tragic and unexpectedly full of new love.