It's hard. I hate having to say, "Sorry, I just don't feel up to going out." It feels so weak and wimpy and whiny. But sometimes - a lot of the time right now - I don't feel like going out. I don't feel like being around most anyone. And it's not a reflection on them or on my friendship with them. I just am so tired and I'm so sad and why should anyone have to be a witness to that? Why should I inflict myself on them? It's exhausting to not be sad; to be "normal" and talk and laugh. I'm exhausted. I'm so very, very sad.
Rachael was born when I was 18 years old. I remember at my high school graduation party, out by the pool in our Florida house, Mom walking around with her pregnant belly. Rach was born just a couple months later. I was there - not there there, but at the hospital. Waiting in Mom's room while she had a C-section. It was scary and crazy to me. I didn't have any friends who'd had babies. I wasn't yet seven years old when my brother was born (different set of parents). And that was one of those old school situations: we went to bed and woke up the next morning to Grandma sleeping on the couch. Next thing I know, there's my baby brother coming home.
I loved Rachael in an almost obsessive way. I was an "adult" living at home, going to college and working at the daycare where she went while Mom and JD (my stepdad) worked. I'd take her to daycare, check on her while I was on break... feed her dinner at home. When I missed her first birthday, because we were driving the cars across country for a move, I broke down upon seeing her again. (It'd only been a week. Haha!)
I moved out when I was 20. I wasn't happy living in California and wanted to be out on my own. I moved back to Florida and didn't get to see much of Rach (or my parents) for a while. They were far away, I was consistently broke, and to be totally honest - I was living my own life. Self-absorbed - as most 20-somethings are and should be. Moving from Florida, to Texas, back to Florida, back to Texas - following boys and jobs and my other family. I moved back to Cali when she was 7. Mom was having a lot of health problems and I wanted to be there to help.
It was hell. Rachael hated me. She resented having me there, telling her what to do. A terribly smart kid, she knew how to get under my skin. We fought all the time.
Life went on. We had our ups and downs. Rachael did not have an idyllic childhood. Mom was sick, and blaming herself for it; in trying to overcompensate for her illnesses, she'd give in to Rachael. Again, she was a super smart kid - she knew how to get what she wanted. And what she wanted - it seemed to me - was to live her own life; nevermind, she was still just a kid. She had it all figured out.
My job in Cali got transferred to Dallas. I was lucky to be renting a room in a house, given how expensive Cali is, but knew I'd love being back in my own apartment in Dallas. (Texas cost of living is like 1/3 that of California.) So, I left. I met my future husband, got engaged, got promoted at work, got pregnant and moved the wedding up by a year. Mom, JD and Rach moved to Dallas to be near us. Unfortunately, my husband's job search led us to southern Arizona.
I didn't know Rachael had started using drugs until much later. I remember telling my mom to get her tested, but, apparently, it'd already been going on for a while. I hate that most of my conversations with Rachael ended up being an argument. I hope she always knew that me trying to get her to stop sneaking out at night, stop partying, stop doing drugs was all because I love her and wanted the best for her.
I loved the pictures she took and posted to Facebook. Except the half-naked ones... and the murder/blood ones... I didn't know they were expressions of her art. I just saw my baby sister, half-naked, online. I judged. I judged my parents for what I thought was too much leniency. And I was wrong. I wasn't there everyday to see her, to know her. To know that his was her talent and her beauty coming through. My favorite photo is hard to pick but this one always stands out:
These are more of my faves.
She took many more - not of herself. I guess I like these because they are of her. Because this is how I want to remember her.
As far as I can tell, she started with drinking and pot. Like most teens do - but she was 12 when she started. What was recreational became a way of life. Her intellect was used to figure out how to get more. And her favorite source was Mom's pain pills. Mom has several back and joint issues that cause an unbearable amount of pain. Mom and JD went from locking their bedroom doors, to lock boxes, to a keypad safe and eventually a biometric (fingerprint) safe. She broke them all. Too damn smart for her own good. And we're all paying the price.
My baby sister, who was colicky as hell as an infant; who would scrunch up her face and put up her dukes to the phrase, "wanna fight?" when she was a year old; who loved cheerleading and dancing at age 7; my baby sister who I barely knew anymore... was hooked on Opana. Rachael would steal the pills from the safe, crush them, and snort them. Because, unlike me, she knew they were time released and this was the quickest way to get high. At 16, she told Mom, "I'm only happy when I'm high." And now, she's dead.
My parents couldn't afford to pay for rehab outright. So, they were doing what most of us do - trying to go through insurance and find a provider. Mom spent months trying to get Rachael into an inpatient program. Rach and JD went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings. She was seeing a therapist. Rachael knew she had a problem. She wanted to stop. But no help was to be found.
At 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, April 1st, my phone rang. I saw it was JD and thought he'd forgotten the time difference. Instead of telling him in an annoyed voice what time it was, I heard him sobbing out Rachael's name and everything in me stopped cold. The rest of the day is a blur. I remember getting no help with rates from the airlines; trying to sync my flight with my other sister's...
Then, came the hardest and strangest experience of my life. Helping my parents pick out Rachael's cremation casket, urn, stationary... going to the store with Riann to try to find a dress for Rachael's viewing... talking to the pastor about her funeral service. It was all very surreal. It still kind of is. A part of me still expects a text from her, complaining about Mom. Or asking me for something impossible and then getting mad when I say no. Or to see something on her Facebook that makes me cringe.
I've been in a numb-ish state for a while. More and more, I find the sadness creeping in. I told Wayne the other day I feel as if no matter how much fun I'm having, no matter how good my day is, there is a sadness shadowing it all. And I'm tired of never having an awesome day, anymore. Every song I hear, every show I see, every single thing makes me think of her. I'm fighting an overwhelming sadness every single day. Some days, I feel like I'm losing. Others, not so much.
Yesterday, when I started this entry, I was sad. Today, I've been angry. It's a roller coaster of emotion. And I'm not a huge fan of roller coasters.
Before you can say it, I know. I know it will get better. It takes time. Everyone grieves in their own way. I've heard it all. But hearing it, and knowing it, doesn't make this easier.
I just saw this for the first time. I love you. Nothing seems sfficient to write here as a comment but I just wanted you to know that someone HEARD you.
ReplyDeleteRiann