WordSisters

Author: Elizabeth di Grazia

  • Mama-Sister

    Mama-Sister

    “You don’t know anything about me.”

    My brother was right. I didn’t. I didn’t have any idea where he had gone. What he did. Who he knew. His incarceration record. Jails. Prison.

    The 23-year-old sitting with me and a staff member at the halfway house had called me mom until he was 8 years old. He was the last of my parents’ 12 children. I took care of him the best a teenager could.

    “I’m afraid you’re going to die, Johnny,” I said. “That I won’t see you again. I’ll get a phone call saying that you’re dead.” I sobbed.

    The fight left him. He softened. Maybe he was remembering the times I tried to locate him when our parents put him away in homes for troubled kids. Homes, plural.

    “I wish I could have taken you with me,” I said. “I couldn’t. I had to save myself.”

    One time I did find him. He was 13. I called and set a date with the residential facility without my parent’s knowledge. Sitting next to him on the couch, I explained to him and the therapist what it was like in our family. Tried to give Johnny the words for the things he saw. The violence, the sexual abuse. “It’s not you,” I said. “This was what it was like in our home.”

    SISTER NO CONTACT was the result of my visit. I wouldn’t see Johnny for years.

    My children are 21 going on 22 years old. Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking of Johnny. Though I think of him all the time. A loss that never leaves. There is always the thought – if I could have just taken him with me. Impossible. I didn’t have any money. I didn’t have a home. I was only 19 years old. I keep replaying it in my head, wanting it to be a movie. Girl saves baby brother. Mama-sister and kid brother leave home, grow up together. Safe. Happy.

    My son and daughter are safe. They aren’t worried about where they’re going to rest their heads tonight. Johnny was long gone by their age. It was typical to be kicked out of our house when you graduated high school. Johnny didn’t get that grace. He was gone by 13. He never graduated. Never got his GED. Finally left for Alaska and the fishing boats.

    All morning I’ve been looking down the basement stairs towards Juan’s bedroom. Looking for light, movement. Finally, I text: Are U alive down there? Need food? Fresh air? Water? Don’t make me come open your door for a health check.

    I relax when he texts: I am alive lol. I have my water bottle. I was about to change and come up for food. Smiley face emoji. I’m invested in a show, worst roommate ever.

    Crystel is building her life in Hawaii, knowing she has a home in Minnesota. Our weekly phone calls are as much to keep up with her as they are to support her.

    Twenties are for exploration. My time and energy were consumed with living at a halfway house, AA, and therapy. AA raising me. Teaching me values. Honesty. Truth. How to belong to a group. I hung on for dear life and learned everything I could.

    All you have to do is grow up and get out. I left the farmstead believing Johnny would survive. I can still feel our last hug. This 19-year-old woman hugging the 8-year-old boy.

    He never got free.  Even after our parents’ death.

     He died of a heroin overdose at 29.  His home – a makeshift shelter in The Jungle, a strip of woods in Seattle. He had his brothers and sisters’ contact information on a scrap of paper in his jeans.  

    It’s been 24 years since my brother’s death. The movie is about a girl-daughter-sister-mother who lost her brother. Who loved him deeply but couldn’t take him with her. A loss that doesn’t go away. And, even now, when the sister drives by freeway underpasses and scraggly underbrush she scans for places her brother might have called home.

    I didn’t know his story, the places he laid his head. I knew his spirit.

  • A Simple Thank You

    A Simple Thank You

    “I’m not a kid, anymore”, my son said. Why was I then having to cajole him into writing thank you cards? Isn’t that an adult thing? Jody and I had a gathering of up to fifty people to celebrate – and more importantly – to recognize his graduation from Dunwoody College of Technology. 

    Our son didn’t want a basket to be set out for cards. “It looks like I expect something, then,” he said.  

    He wore a hooded sweatshirt, graciously accepted the cards given to him, and slid the cards into his hoodie pocket. Later he transferred the cards to his cubby.

    My son graduated from Dunwoody with honors. Earlier, I had pointed to his Cum Laude and Outstanding Attendance designation on the commencement program. “You did that,” I said. “Me and Mama Jody never once got you up for school. We never once asked you if you had class work to do. You did that.”

    He looked pleased. “I know.”

    But, to write a thank you card?

    Ever since our son and daughter could hold a crayon, the expectation was to send thank you cards for birthday and holiday gifts. In some ways, it was easy for them. A thank you card is made of two halves. Our son would have one half and our daughter the other. They each would draw a picture displaying their own unique personality. Jody and I would address and mail the cards.

    Juan balked at drawing a picture. “I’m not a kid, anymore.”

    In retrospect, I probably should have expected his pushback sooner.

    My son and daughter are members of the first social generation to have grown up with access to the Internet. They are labeled digital natives. Both consume digital information quickly and comfortably through electronic devices and platforms.

    Where does that leave the digital immigrants? The grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who grew up dominated by print before the advent of the Internet.

    We would like a thank you card, and we would like our children to send thank you cards.

    Is it enough for our children to say thank you in person when handed a card? I’m sure that my son did that. He is sociable, polite and courteous. I’m old-fashioned. I haven’t let go of the idea that the written word is important. Our son did end up sending thank you cards. He did the absolute bare minimum.

    Will thank you cards, thank you texts, emails, etc. become antiquated? Will it be all thought, all energy driven? Appreciation transmitted without electronics. Mind to mind. A glow of light. If asked, the children will say that we are already there. It’s us digital immigrants that must catch up.

  • Adventure Travel

    Adventure Travel

    Tour du Mont Blanc photo credit https://monkeysandmountains.com/tour-du-mont-blanc-trek/

    Challenging, uncertain conditions, erratic weather, steep ascents, and descents.

    Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB), one of the most popular long-distance walks in Europe, also described my internal climate. The TMB is a 112- mile hiking trail that circles Mont Blanc in France, Italy, and Switzerland.

    “Let’s go,” I told Jody. “This is something for US.”

    In April, Jody and I volunteered for 25 sporting and entertainment events at 5 different venues to raise grant funds for Juan and Crystel’s schooling. In May we are scheduled for 18 events.

    Kosher stand at Twins stadium

    Jody and I often manage the kosher stand at the Twins stadium. It was there, while grilling kosher hot dogs and vegan sriracha brats with the smell of onions permeating every piece of my clothing that bad weather started coming in. Overlooking third base, I had the distinct feeling, I don’t want to do this anymore.

    The TMB is a classic long-distance hike. Jody and I did a classic parenting move and overextended ourselves. I wanted to bust out of myself. Explode.

    I started researching international challenging hikes. The uphills of the TMB are consistently steep and over a long distance. Most days hikers are hiking through at least one mountain pass, though sometimes two or three. Often hikers are not able to see the pass from the trailhead for that day, and if you look too far ahead, it could feel like an endless amount of hiking.

    Perfect.

    We were hiking that terrain now.

    Taking time at the dog park

    I don’t want a day to go by without me being in it. Sitting on my patio, journaling, listening to the birds, feeling the sun’s warmth, pausing to see the trees sway and clouds flowing – that is my heaven. Closing my eyes, hearing it all.

    Jody and I have shifted our paradigm to us. Less volunteering. More patio time. International hikes on the horizon. Already, I’m feeling more settled.

    Though the TMB resembled my internal climate the Alpe Adria Trail (AAT) is more to my abilities. It is a long-distance trail that runs through three countries: from Austria, through Slovenia to Italy. It is often described as a pleasure hiker’s delight. Jody and I have signed up with a group to hike among mountain peaks, green valleys and along clear Alpine rivers and lakes. The trail connects the three countries from the Alpine glaciers to the Adriatic coast.

    It’s not always, how are the children?  It’s also, how am I?