Twisted sister
A large parcel was delivered to my door last evening. Could it be something I ordered online and subsequently forgot? That nifty combination juicer-slicer-pot holder-egg poacher I spied in the Chef's Catalog? Nope. The Cabela's Anorak parka so necessary for South Florida's brutal winters? Uh-uh. A present from my children? That'll be the day. No, it contained Christmas presents sent to me by my favorite (only) sister Donna and her family.
Now I know that Christmas presents in March sounds weird, but you don't know Donna. She is wacky as they come, will argue at the drop of a hat (a female version of our dad), and is a journeyman (screw you PC bleeders out there), card-carrying skeptic. But she is also more, much more.
Warm heart, hard head
My sister is one of the most open, soft-hearted, and generous persons you will ever meet. Despite her false tough-guy front and occasional lapses into what I like to call "Who Can Achieve The Greatest Decibel Level," she has an affable, effervescent personality and is blessed with many loyal and loving friends. From a personal standpoint, Donna is not a demanding person as her needs are few, her wants are reasonable and usually for the benefit of others, and her desires are anything but pretentious. However, her seemingly simple, relatively care-free life today belies the turmoil and grief she experienced and endured in times past. I would be disingenuous if I went on without noting that Donna has been no angel, but who among us can make that claim?
I cannot imagine how she kept herself together after witnessing the suicide of her first husband, with her young children present. Somehow, some way, she did just that and kept her family intact, to boot.
I marvel at the way she overcame a succession of husbands and male 'friends' who either abused her, cheated on her, or in other ways took advantage of her once-trusting and generous nature.
I admire the way in which she allowed and allows her children, friends, and those in need to live under her roof and share what she has.
But most of all, Donna forever earned my respect and esteem when she took our ailing father into her home and nurtured him until his passing last year. I will not describe here how horrible that was for her, especially in the latter stages of our dad's life. Let's just say that I had the easy part, because all I had to do was occasionally send money and visit - nothing compared to what she endured.
Not the Cleavers
My brother Ralph, Donna, and I were raised in a tiny, cramped residence, a household without disposable income, and with both parents working to make ends meet. However, we never suffered from lack of nutrition, essential clothing, and friends. Despite the fact that we could not always have the things that most other children routinely enjoyed, we possessed the companionship and support of uncountable relatives, good neighbors, and the congregation of our little Presbyterian church.
Mom and dad were very strict, dad was often harsh and unyielding, and needless to say we did not live like the Cleaver family in Leave It To Beaver. Because our parents worked so much (six days per week was not unusual) we were required to master a variety of life skills at an early age, perform chores, and become self-reliant. I mention these things only because they help paint a picture of the manner in which Donna would eventually meet and deal with the obstacles presented to her.
Today, Donna is of course older and struggles with some serious medical problems. No doubt she will cure herself just to piss off the doctors. But as I write this, firmly ensconced in the comfort of hindsight, I understand why my wacky sister is the way she is and appreciate her all the more for it. My big sister and I are all that remain of our family unit, and perhaps represent the last generation in which family cohesion, loyalty, and responsibility was the norm.
That is sad enough, but not quite so unsettling as the thought that although I tell her often, my twisted sister will probably never know how much I truly love her.