A week from today, my sister comes to California.
I will see her. I don’t
yet know how I will react.
The story, for those that don’t already read my blog and
have heard about it is that I have three sisters, and three brothers. As an adopted child, I never even knew about five
of these siblings until I was in my late 20’s, just the one I consider my
actual brother, raised in the same house, also an adoption.
The ones I was not raised with live in Germany. I don’t know them, not really. I met one of
my sisters, the same one that is coming next week, 11 years ago.
This is where my story gets to be rated as drama.
Back 11 years ago, when my sister decided to visit from
Germany, I had only been talking to *that* family for about 3 years. This had been through letters and
emails. We had talked on internet chat,
and once, a phone call. We had exchanged
pictures and polite Christmas cards. The sister that was the most in contact
(and eventually the one that came to visit) was naturally the one that has the
best English skills, and the best access to computers. It was exciting to talk to her, learn about the
way she and my other siblings grew up, and had I not been adopted, would have
been a part of. The idea of meeting, in
person, was the most perfect thing ever.
She came to visit when I was still married. I also happened to be 7 months pregnant with
my youngest child. I was in my
deliciously and delusionally happy phase of my relationship, with a toddler who
made me smile every second of the day, and having an easy pregnancy even with
my own deep-seated fears about death of a baby, and the unreconciled depression
I had not yet dealt with from the stillbirth of my first son 3 years earlier. I was happy to be entering this new
relationship with a sibling, and introducing her to my family and friends, not
to mention my husband and daughter, and
it was fitting in perfect with the way I thought I wanted my life. It seemed like my trust and fear issues were
being resolved in one planned 16 day vacation.
I was in heaven.
The first two weeks were delicious. My husband and I had to work during the day,
each for a few hours, me at my interpreting job, him at his office supply job,
and my daughter went to her grandparents, while my sister borrowed my car and
did all her exploring. In the evening we
went to dinner, or cooked, or went to friends, just like we did any other time,
and she just came along. We played with
clothes and make-up and giggled. We
dressed my daughter (then only 18 months old) in funny outfits and went for
walks.
About 5 days in, she told me about her day at the beach, and
about a man she met there, and how she was going back the next day to see him,
and maybe they would have lunch. I
listened intently and a bit jealously because he seemed divine, and a summer
fling would have been just my speed when I had been single. I did not begrudge her anything because she
had already told me about the very recent and tragically painful end (like 6
weeks before her vacation) of her 7 year long marriage to her first love.
So maybe you all saw this coming, but it hit me like a ton
of bricks.
The man she met “at the beach” was my husband. The time they spent together was time he
secretly took off of work. It was not
until months and months later, after she had left, we had started counseling,
and she met someone else did I really even begin to understand the depth of the
betrayal. He told me about it on the drive
home from the airport when we dropped her off, and he could not stop
crying. He told me about it again when I
found the emails he sent asking her to come back. He told me again when he said it was all my
fault for being so stupid fat and ugly, and her being so beautiful and smart
and perfect, the he could not control himself.
He told me again when the $347 dollar phone bill arrived and I refused
to pay it. I gave him a kind of ultimatum that said if she came back, I would
leave, and take my beautiful daughter, and my pregnant-fat-ass-soon-to-be-son
away, and that she could have him, but that no, I had zero interest in seeing
either one of them again if that was their choice. I did all this of course while begging him to
pick me, telling him I would do better to make him happy, get thinner, have
more sex, love him.
They carried on via
email and chat for several months after she left. Then she met someone, and wanted it all to
stop, and asked me to tell him to leave her alone. I
ignored the request, and let her deal with it on her own because by then I had
a newborn and a serious depression taking all my time. I don’t think I ever
really forgave my husband, even with the hours of counseling, and weekends away
trying to be together. I hid a lot of
it, maybe for survival, because I never stopped being blamed for his
infidelity.
She and I have never talked about it since then, not
really. She went on to marry the guy who
she met after leaving, and having a daughter herself, and having that same
husband cheat on her and leave her. She
has remarried again, her third, and together they are the ones coming to the
area for their vacation.
My marriage ended five years ago. I still have trust issues as some of the men
I have dated will attest to. I am fine with that because sometimes it has
helped me see the red flags I would have never noticed in my pre-affair
days. I am stronger because of it in
some ways.
What I do next I am not sure. I don’t even know what she and I will talk
about, or even how much time we will spend together. She contacted me, and asked to see me, which
she didn’t have to do. California is a
big state and she could have avoided me without my effort, so I am trying to
give her the benefit of the doubt that she is making some kind of amends. I have yet to figure out what I want to say,
because maybe it is too late.
My daughter, now 12, and my son, now 10, get to meet their
cousin, now 9, and if nothing else, that is a good thing. They just got swept in the wake and have no
responsibility here except to themselves.
I am good with that, and will not deny them the chance to have actual
family in their lives. Me? Oh, I think I will play it by ear and see if
I am still hurting and afraid, or if I really am as strong as I believe I
am. Strong enough to get back a piece of
a connection I was so happy about before.
Or maybe strong enough not to even need it.
