Jimmy Carter...a voice of reason

In my search for some information on another topic I came across this by Jimmy Carter regarding men using religious speak to subjugate and oppress women...then declare that God orders it to be so. Its an interesting read and I advise others to give it a look.


"This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. It is widespread. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths."


He speaks from a Christian perspective but of course you can insert any religion, including Islam, into the space and have the same result.


"Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries. The male interpretations of religious texts and the way they interact with, and reinforce, traditional practices justify some of the most pervasive, persistent, flagrant and damaging examples of human rights abuses."


http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/jul/12/jimmy-carter-womens-rights-equality


In case anyone hasnt figured it out yet...I havent a clue how to make a link...tried tried and tried again...no luck. I apologize for my ineptitude in all things bloggy.

My apologies

I apologize for all regular readers...my family is going through a very tough time at the moment and I cant be bothered to string a few words together and call it a post.


We have had a bomb of monumental proportions dropped on this family...and of all places to be for it to happen....Bahrain is right down there on the list of the absolute wrong place to be...sigh.


Will post something as soon as things work out one way or the other...I hope sooner rather than later.


Come back soon and take care.

Grandparents...hot and cold. pt 2

The relationship I had with my grandfather was something else all together when compared with the one I had (or didnt have) with my grandmother. He and I were pals and we got along great.

As I mentioned in the last post you could usually find him sitting on the porch in his broken down chair drinking beer and telling stories of his life...usually his younger years. I was never able to learn whether he was telling the truth or just wishful thinking...but I loved his stories anyhow. They were colorful (language as well as use of adjectives) and I never got tired of hearing them.

Because my grandad was an alcoholic most of his life there are only a few occasions when I can remember going anywhere with him. My mother was very careful about that and made absolutely sure he hadnt been drinking before allowing me to go off with him. We'd get into his late model car, roll down the windows and head off down the road...generally keeping traffic backed up for miles as he never seemed to go much faster than 30 mph and for some reason never remembered to turn off the turn indicator. We'd have cars horning behind us in impatient outrage and he'd seemingly be completely oblivious to the road rage he was instigating behind him. While people were anxious to horn in frustration I dont personally remember anyone actually taking him on or gunning the engine and making a dangerous move to get around him...as they are so quick to do these days. We always had a good time together and I do sorely miss them.

I spent quite a lot of our vacation time on the porch with my grandpa...in his garden (while still able to get around he loved his garden) or just shuffling down the road going nowhere in particular....and always talking. When he'd been drinking more than usual I never really understood the things that might come out of his mouth...but now when I think about it I realize he was just as bitter and angry as my grandmother about his "wasted" life and failure to make something of it....but that anger only seemed to come out with the helping hand of alcoholic lubrication. I didnt see it often when I was with him.

Gramps loved to go fishing and we loved going fishing with him. Oklahoma has some pretty fishing holes and plenty of wildlife to look at while your busy not catching anything. I remember once sitting on a small out crop of rocks and was surprised and scared silly to see a cottonmouth snake come slithering out into the water. We all knew the dangers of snakes in that area and this was a bad one as far as snakes go...so imagine my amazement to see gramps calmly stride over, grab the thing matter of factly and hurl it off across the water...then calmly walk back to his fishing. Most people dont believe me when I tell that story but all I can do is tell it the way I saw it...believe it or not. Mom said he was probably drunk and didnt know what he was doing, didnt realize the dangers, but I dont recall seeing gramps drinking that day as he usually didnt when out with us...only at home while sitting on the porch for the most part. I prefer to think of him as my non-drunk hero...sigh.

One thing that stands out more clear than anything else in my childhood was grampas choice of clothing. As you can see from the pic he nearly always wore overalls...I can hardly remember a day that he didnt have them on. He'd get holes in them and demand my grandmother mend them...it was one thing he seemed adamant about her doing despite her protests. He wanted his overalls mended and that was that. She usually did it...complaining the whole time.

Ive loved writing stories my whole life...started when I was old enough to know I could...and I wrote a story about gramps and his overalls while in my senior year of school writing class. I got an A on that paper and my teacher read it out loud to the class...something she hadnt done with other stories up to that point. In my high school year book she signed it saying..."I will always remember your Old Overalls"...which was the name of the story.

As I mentioned in the last post...the last time I seen gramps he was nearly in tears about us leaving early due to grammas constant complaints about everything....mostly me. He tried to talk mom into staying...followed us out into the driveway promising everything would be fine...to ignore her cause she was "crazy" and not let the vacation be ruined cause of it. Mom wasnt listening in her intent to get away. She had had enough and we were gone with barely a hug and whispers of goodbye. I still remember gramps scratchy beard and extra hard hug...promising to see me next time.

I never seen gramps again. I left home and went into the military a few months later...then came to Bahrain. He died the first year I was here and of course I couldnt go to his funeral. When my mother called me and told me gramps had passed it was a feeling like no other. I already felt lonely and isolated here in Bahrain. I felt cut off from the family and all that was going on with them...and cause gramps and I had been so close...I was especially hard hit to have to suffer this grief alone.

A few weeks later I received a package from my mom. Inside was a cassette tape with grampa's funeral written on it. I listened to the tape and was completely overcome with emotion to realize mom had taped pertinent parts of the funeral for me. Gramps favorite song was playing in the back ground. People stood up and said their piece about him....and then something familiar came on...something that I had no idea had even made the trip to OK much less to gramps funeral. My cousin Diane was reading my story...the one I had written about gramps and his old overalls. She started out well enough but before too long she could barely get the words out...and I could hear everyone in the room crying or commenting in some way.

I was completely gutted...

My mom knew I was upset about his death and that I couldnt be there...so she had made sure I was there at least in some fashion....and it was the absolute right thing to do...I was both eternally grateful and overcome with emotion...both incredibly sad and insanely happy at the same time. That cassette was one of my most prized possessions for years...until in a fit of rage my (ex)husband shattered it and threw it away...calling it morbid to listen to a funeral again and again. Why do some people have absolutely no compunction to hurt in this way for no reason what so ever?

I find it strange that my gramps died back in 1988 and so had been gone for many years...but up until I was able to visit OK 6 years ago (before grammas death) knowing he was gone and believing it were two different things. Until I was able to visit his graveside and see his name written on a headstone was I able to finally believe in my heart that he was gone. It was a peaceful day for me somehow.

When my grandmother passed away after suffering a year and a half with Alzheimer's in which my mother cared for her up until her passing...I can honestly say that I didnt feel sad...I wasnt upset...it really meant nothing to me. I feel like an ogre for saying that but its the truth. I was very sad for my mother for losing HER mother...but for me it had no affect. This upset my mother to some degree...she WAS my grandmother after all...but we cannot manufacture grief if it isnt there...and it wasnt there for me.

Incidentally mom says that the last year of grammas life in which she suffered through the destructive deterioration of Alzheimer's gave her an insight into what her mother might have been like if life hadnt kicked her down so hard and made her an angry bitter woman. All though I never seen her myself Mom tells me that gramma died a sweet compliant woman that never complained or got upset with anything. Obviously it was the disease that had made her forget her life and her reasons for the anger etc...but my Mother was very happy that she had got to see what she hopes was her "real" mother. Im glad she was able to see that for her own peace of mind.

I miss my gramps and wish I had that funeral tape still...but I do have my memories...and those will do me just fine.

Grandparents...hot and cold.

* a rare pic of my grandparents together

As a lot of people who read this blog might know...I grew up with a crazy father who kept us fairly isolated from people specifically and the world in general as much as he could. Most of the places we lived when I was young were either very small towns or isolated areas in which there were few neighbors. It was rare for people to come visit us...and rarer still for us to go visit them...or to spend the night with friends etc. Most of our friends were too scared to even come to our house for the most part...so we didnt do a lot of asking for slumber parties any how...but it would have been nice to have those sorts of memories.


My Mothers family never came to see us for the most part during my childhood...any visiting that was done was by us going to see them. It didnt happen a lot but enough so that us kids knew our grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. (they all lived in pretty much the same area in OK) When we went down to visit we usually stayed with my grandparents...and counted the days until we were ran out of the house and headed back home. It went something like this....

My grandmother was about the most anti social person Ive ever personally known in my life. She suffered a lot in her life so I figure that had a lot to do with it...but I also assume she had personal issues and personality hangups that made her who she was....a person that rarely smiled...never laughed...and had nothing good to say about anything. All my childhood all I can remember from her was a constant babble of complaints about everything and anything under the sun. Whenever we came to visit my mother braced herself for a constant onslaught of finger pointing and nagging from sun up to sun down...and late into the night. Grandma never seemed to run out of things to complain about...and didnt sleep much either...sigh.


Grandpa, on the other hand, dealt with life (and maybe his wife) by drinking...a lot. While she sat at the kitchen table (I rarely saw her anywhere else in her house other than the bedroom for sleeping...and she only went in there when she wanted to sleep) he would sit outside on the porch in his broken down chair sipping on beer and ignoring the complaints that were constantly being thrown out the screen door at him. They very rarely spent time in the same room together other than when passing through...and I never heard a single word between them that could in any way be considered civil...Mom says its because of the hard life they spent together and the era they grew up in. They were like enemies that couldnt live together...but wouldnt even think of living life apart.


Now I had two very different relationships with these two people. Like night and day...or hot and cold depending on how you look at it. As I sit here and think about the both of them (both have since passed on) I only have negative memories with my grandmother and only positive memories of my grandfather. Its possible because I was a child my memories are somewhat distorted but I will explain and you tell me...what was going on with those two?


As I mentioned, my grandmother was a bitter and angry woman...this was her personality and she pretty much treated everyone to a tongue lashing if they dared come too close. Most of the family had learned that a quick visit was just about all that could be had if you didnt want to get dragged into a tirade that lasted hours. Whenever we stayed there for more than a day...Mom would make frequent "trips to the store" just to give herself (and us) a chance to regroup and calm down. I was usually the first one in the car when she suggested we needed something...I couldnt get away fast enough. You see, my grandmother hated me...we all knew this...including my Mother...but none of us knew why.


Picture this. My grandmother rarely showed affection to anyone...even her own children...so a hug from her or even her reaching out and touching someone on purpose was just something so rare that it caused heads to turn and eyebrows to raise when it happened....and something remembered for a very long time. Growing up my older sister Tammy was favored by grandma, which was ironic considering Tammys rebellious streak and penchant for trouble making. I can remember on several occasions when gramma would call her over and pull her onto her lap...for just a few seconds but thats all it took...that contact was a signal that Tammy was about to get a treat (money, a trinket of grammas etc) and Tammy knew it..and soaked it up. Throwing me a look of such superiority that ordinarily I would be jealous...but I wasnt...I knew how she felt about me and knew I would never be asked to sit on her lap. I didnt miss it.


Years later after Tammy was gone little sis took over her spot and could be seen sitting on grammas lap now and then...and receiving some token or bit of money. In all my life I do not recall gramma ever touching me...nor do I remember her ever saying my name. She completely ignored my presence in her house for the most part....except for three occasions that stand out in my mind.


One time I was very bored...there is nothing much to do in a house in which two old people live...and this neighborhood had no children in it...and so I was searching for something to do. Grammas living room (a room she NEVER spent time in except to dust once a week) was like blast from the past. Every bit of furniture and collection of knick knacks in that room remained in exactly the same position for as long as I could remember. Nothing ever changed...nothing was ever thrown out or moved. The same furniture...the same books on the shelf...the same picture of JFK was on the wall for as long as I could remember. Nobody ever really sat in there except to watch TV...and she didnt like the TV to be on all that much so it was off most of the time as well. You learned quick when being in grammas house not to touch things...move things...or even show interest in things...she had her eye on every last object in her house and took inventory often.


Out of extreme boredom and in an act of desperation (mom had gone out with my aunt for several hours...I was alone with gramma that day) I entered the sitting room and pulled a book from her shelf. It was a very old copy of Tom Sawyer. I sat in a chair and read the whole thing in about 2 hours (I have always been a quick reader). When I finished I placed the book back on the shelf and went about my day. Unknown to me gramma had quickly noticed me entering the sitting room and had been complaining the whole time (most of her complaining was done as if she were talking to herself...not necessarily directed at anyone...but loud enough so we knew she was hot about something). As soon as my mother arrived she was hit with an onslaught of accusations that I had "tore up" the sitting room...I had "gotten into everything"...and I had probably "damaged" her book. Mom defended me telling gramma that I was very respectful and wouldnt hurt anything etc...but later on she kicked my butt telling me I knew better than to antagonize gramma over her things. Its just the way things were...sigh. I never touched anything in grammas house again if I could help it.


Another time Mom, gramma, grandpa and I went somewhere (a very rare occasion for them to both be in the same car as I recall) and I sat in the backseat with grandpa. When we arrived I chose to stay outside in the car with grandpa rather than go inside the house and visit some "old lady" who was sick. The entire time they were in the house...gramma stood near the door and kept her eye on the both of us outside (I didnt realize this at the time of course)...and on the way home she complained loud and long about me (in an indirect fashion)...wondering why I preferred sitting in the car with HIM...what did I do while sitting there...how could mom just let me sit there...it went on and on until we reached home. Her complaining from one side...mom and grandpa telling her to shut up from the other...I never said a word because I didnt understand why she was so mad at me. I hadnt done anything but sit in the car and talk with grandpa to pass the time...sigh.


The last incident was actually the last time I visited my grandparents home as a teen. I had been suffering an incredibly bad headache for much of the day. I had gone to Mom asking if she had any Tylenol...she told me to go ask gramma as she had a bottle somewhere. Of course I didnt. I couldnt bring myself to ask her for anything...I could barely bring myself to speak to her since she had spent my entire life either ignoring me or complaining about me. I suffered a few more hours hoping it would go on its own. It didnt.


I went back to mom, who at this point was in a very bad mood (I dont recall what was going on but do remember she was very mad about something)...and when I asked her she exploded at me to just "go and ask YOUR GRAMMA"...so I went...with a heavy heart and trepidation. Of course it didnt go well. I do believe it was the first time in my life that I directed a request to her...asked her for something...wanted something from her...she didnt take it well. From the moment I asked for some Tylenol she went on a rant about how I was "using up her medication" and she would be "left with nothing and she was an old woman" and how I was "inconsiderate to take her medication when I could get my own"...and similar complaints.


I slunk away to a dark room and laid down hoping the headache would go away with some rest. It didnt. Mom found me an hour later in tears, grabbing my head and unable to open my eyes the pain was so severe. She asked me if I had taken any pain pills. I hesitated...then told her gramma had not given me any.


All Hell broke loose that day. Before an hour had passed our bags were packed and we were headed back home....but not before mom had let gramma have it about making me suffer rather than give me 2 little Tylenol...gramma went on her rant and they went round and round until we were slamming doors and headed down the driveway. I didnt see gramma again until 6 years ago while visiting my family in Texas (she and my older sis passed away a year later within weeks of each other...a double blow for my mother)...I never seen my grandpa again. He passed away the first year I was in Bahrain. The last image of my grandpa was him standing in the driveway with tears in his eyes waving goodbye...because he felt as if this would be our last visit for awhile considering gramma had done her best to run us off for good this time. 2 years later I was in Bahrain and he passed away.

*to be continued. I will talk about my grandpa and our relationship.

Make Over Contest...Everyone Take a Look

Rules for Isabella Snow's July blog makeover contest! Entering is easy! Just copy and paste this (entire) blurb to your blog (make sure the links still work!) and then email Isabella a link to your blog post. The contest deadline is at midnight GMT July 31. One winner will be selected the following day by a drawing of names; the name will be posted here; and the winner will be emailed, as well. A new, totally original blog will be completed within two weeks of winning. One entry per blog. *Blogger.com customization only*, see the Blogbunnie Blog Design portfolio for layout options.Good luck!xx Isabella
Posted by Isabella Snow on 7/01/2009

The Funeral of a "Hell Raiser"

As I mentioned before, my older sis was a hell raiser intent on leaving nothing standing once she had "left the building"...smoking embers and shocked faces were all that could be seen after a visit from her.

She said what she wanted to say, to anyone, including our Mother...and didnt care what happened after that. What strings she cut...what hearts she broke mattered not at all.

Throughout my entire life I knew Tammy as a consummate liar. I guess she would be considered a pathological liar considering that is someone who has an overwhelming urge to lie...even when there is no need too. We generally lie to either not hurt someones feelings or to cover up some wrong that we did...she lied "just because"...without cause without reason. I have forgotten how many times I stood there while she told a story of some event in our lives...most often an event that happened to ME...and she would not only make herself the "hero, victim, victor" whatever...she would exaggerate until the story was unrecognizable. She did that since we were very young. You could never trust what came out of her mouth...all that you could trust was that it was probably not the truth.

That was something that held true for ALL of her life...at least the part of her life I was a part of.

She made it a habit of acquiring things that were not necessarily hers...but in which the real owner should have taken better care of if he/she didnt want to lose that item...obviously they didnt deserve it since they left said item where it was easily obtained by an innocent passerby...whatever. She bragged about stealing from stores etc...quite often while she was in the store. Loudly proclaiming about the time she took such and such right under their noses...and they were all so stupid they didnt even know. Nobody ever challenged her about these loud rants...Im not sure why. Maybe they figured she was a drunk red neck and best to ignore her....if only.

While I worked at Kmart for a spell I happened to know that her and her little gang of pot heads made it a habit to steal from Kmart whenever they could...I asked her please to not at least do it while I was at work...putting me and my job at risk. She never listened of course and I was eventually forced to leave that job...circumstances of which would make another post by itself. (will think about that)

Her house was constantly over run with pot smoking, beer drinking, half naked women or lecherous men who eyed her little girls more than once. Her daughters claimed numerous times that this or that man touched them or opened the bathroom door while they were in there etc...but she never believed them...or called them sluts out to "take her man". Eventually the older one left...never to return. She lived in the same town up until her mother died...married even...but never spoke to her again. The younger daughter and littlest son was still there at the time of her death. Her older boy was long gone by that time...suffering his own mental problems brought about from his crazy abused childhood.

Her house was a cave of darkness in which Harley Davidson was the decor of choice. No matter how bright the day was outside her house was kept in perpetual twilight. Always requiring lights to be on if you wanted to see what you were doing. Her bedroom itself was a shrine to all things HD and black with bits of red were the only colors allowed. Even her clothes were basic black (HD logos everywhere), any color was rarely ever to be seen .

The reason I repeated all of this is to remind you of what I knew of MY sister....the one I grew up with...the one I despaired of...the one that pushed me away...only to draw me back when and if she needed me. The one that alienated everyone and everything around her...including her own children. The one that only seemed to hate, scream, and lie her way through life.

So my Mother rushes to Wyoming to attend her funeral with my little sis. She arrives the day of and has to hunt for the new address as my sis had moved several times around town through the years. Imagine Moms surprise to pull up into a driveway of a brand new double wide trailer. My sis had only ever lived in dumps for most of her adult life.

When they knocked on the door and it was answered by a young teenager that they instantly recognized but of who nearly broke my Mothers heart all over again for it was my youngest niece...my sis's youngest daughter...who looked exactly like my sister did at her age. My Mom hadnt seen her since she was a little girl. My niece did not seem happy to see her Grandmother all though in the past she had been a favorite to spend the night with her.


Everyone entered the house and my Mother looked around wondering if she was actually in the right house. This house was bright and breezy. Pretty decor and flowers etc were in abundance. It was pristine in appearance and not a single Harley Davidson icon could be seen anywhere...not even the color black.


Mother asked permission to look around and the new husband (of whom she had heard of but never met) showed her the house. On the walls were pics of all of us...my sis had never kept pics on her walls ever except of her kids when they were born. Mom was especially surprised to see a pic of me considering I had been "disowned" several years previously. A walk down the hall and the kids rooms had nice bedroom sets and toys...something unheard of in their younger days. Mostly castoffs and broken things were all they had to play with as my sis couldnt be bothered to buy them things...they usually ended up with things that came by way of stealing.


At the back of the house was Tammy's room. Here it was still pure Tammy. Windows were black as usual...heavily curtained and enforcing the cave like feel of the place. The walls and every surface had some sort of HD item as well as pot symbols and skulls etc. The rest of the house was a study in opposites...but here in her room the old Tammy shone through.


My Mother and younger sis just kept staring at each other with similar thoughts running through their heads...what the heck was going on?


Later that day when attending the funeral my Mother was prepared to see the usual gathering of pot heads and thieves giving their final farewells to a "gang member"....so imagine her surprise when people she didnt recognize stood up and talked about a woman who was "honest and giving"....who "told the truth no matter what"...who would "do anything for anyone"....and who "made their lives so much better for having known her".


My Mother and sis were left with their mouths literally hanging open...who the HELL was this person everyone was talking about? No way could this be the same Tammy we all "knew and loved"....something had to be wrong cause this wasnt making any sense.


After the funeral Mom had a chance to speak with some of these strangers and they all had similar stories to tell...my sis had helped them either emotionally (listening and advising on problems), financially (loaning money then not accepting it back) and just being a friend.


You would have thought this would have made my Mom happy to know that Tammy had apparently made peace with herself after all these years and finally learned to reach out to people...but in fact my Mother was furious. She was so incredibly angry she felt absolutely horrified to be at my sisters funeral with such bitterness and anger in her heart...but really...WHO WAS THIS PERSON THEY WERE ADMIRING AND CRYING OVER?!!!


My Mom felt cheated...she felt humiliated...she felt as if my sister had pulled one last "fast one" on all of us...and especially her. My sister obviously had changed in some ways...how or why we will never know....but no matter how much she had changed...she still couldnt reach out to her own Mother to try and bridge the gap that had been built. My Mother was left with the memory of a rebellious child that could never be hugged...shown care for...or even loved...without it being thrown back in our faces.


Who was this lady everyone knew and loved...and missed...who had touched them in some way...a positive way....but of whom we knew nothing about...had never got to know...and now never would?


To this day my Mother talks about that funeral and all the stories people were telling about my sister...stories that would have been impossible to believe if she hadnt heard them with her own ears...but one thing held true....everyone there considered us...her family....as her enemies. She never spoke of us...except to bad talk us or accuse us of cheating her in some way.


I will never understand my sister...the person she was, the one we knew...or the one she became that everyone else knew but not us.


I miss her either way....

Sis...You Made it So Hard to Love You

My oldest sister passed away some years back. While I was here in Bahrain of course. It was merely by chance that I even knew of her passing as she still lived in the town I grew up in...as well as one of my childhood friends. It was this friend who sent me an email full of condolences over the recent death of my sister...a death I had no idea about. Considering that my Mother had not called me herself to tell me my sister had passed...I assumed she was unaware of it as well.


You might wonder how it is my sister, her daughter, could pass away without either of us even knowing (along with my other sis and brother etc)...easy enough to explain...she disowned the lot of us some years before she died.


Me specifically....but everyone else by association.


Her name was Tammy Lynn and she was 5 years older than me. She was Harley Davidson girl..never wore a bra and rarely panties...and didnt care who knew it. Her house was kept shrouded with heavy curtains...her room was decorated in Harley Davidson items...and was kept dark with both its decor and by the windows being covered. She smoked pot excessively, drank alcohol daily and abused her kids hourly. Her favorite color was black...except when it came to people, then she was a pure racist. Ironic considering the rest of us females in the family have taken rather a shine to darker skinned men.


Tomorrow is her bday and she would be 46 years old. She died 5 years ago with only 2 of her 4 children around her as she had alienated the 2 older ones at that point. They would have nothing to do with her. I imagine it was only a matter of time before the younger ones came of age and headed for the horizon as well.


Her life from the moment of her birth, breach that nearly killed her as well as my Mother, was filled with pain and some kind of inner torment that she seemingly could never be free from. She was so full of anger and hate for things and people that she constantly drove those nearest to her away. Quite often they came back ...only to be driven away again at some point. Eventually even the most die hard of her friends eventually left her for good. Her demons were a busy lot.


I grew up with an older sis that blazed a trail of destruction where ever she went. She continually failed in school, caused so many troubles with teachers and other students that my father eventually pulled her out in the 8th grade. (she would get her GED years later). She became sexually active at the age of 15 and became pregnant almost immediately. She married (by force if I understand as my father threatened to kill the guy if she didnt) this much older boyfriend and set about destroying that relationship right from the start. As soon as she turned 18 she separated then divorced him but never let him forget what a dismal failure he was as a father to their two children.


The fact that she burned so many bridges before I even got to cross them meant most of the time there werent any left standing that I could cross. My parents forbid me dating, going to parties, joining clubs, working part time and even driving merely because my sister had caused such havoc in each of those activities long before I could even start on them. I had a dismal childhood for many reasons merely because I was a middle child...and second in line after a hell raiser.



She constantly wreaked havoc in my life since I was old enough to understand her malicious streak. She would constantly break things, steal things, fail to do chores etc....and blame it on me. She would steal any boy that ever showed a glimmer of interest in me (and believe me their werent many...my sister was considered a beauty...I was a tomboy with red hair and freckles...no contest) then throw them away once they had forgotten they even liked me. She stabbed me in the back so many times Im surprised I dont spurt water when I drink...I have lost count of the many times she had me crying over her failure to see that I loved her...but she would throw it back in my face...again and again....as she did with all of us...her family.


My Mother and her were so much alike in many ways it was scary. If you pointed this out to either of them they got upset and declared themselves NOTHING like the other. I do believe it was why they clashed so often...it was like looking in the mirror and seeing the worst of yourself manifested. However, my Mother had a sweeter side that dominated her personality...my sister was rarely sweet and never willingly showed emotion unless is was anger and hate.


The interesting thing between the two of us is that we were raised in the same house...by the same parents. We suffered the same (all though my mother claims I suffered more at my fathers hands simply because my sister escaped at 15...that left only me to bear the brunt)...and yet we turned out as different as night and day. People were, and still are, surprised to learn that we were sisters. We looked nothing alike. Had extremely opposite personalities and characteristics...and generally viewed the world from different colored lenses....but she was my sister and I loved her despite her constant attack at my heart strings...trying to cut them once and for all...why...I dont know....I imagine I will never know.


When I got the email that my sister had died (btw NEVER send such heart stopping soul crushing news via email...just so you know) and realized that I would have to tell my Mother...it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. To pick up the phone and call Mom and tell her that not only had one of her children passed away....but it was her most difficult child...the one she cried over the most...the one she suffered from the most...the one she loved but could never find a stable relationship with not based on anger and hate...and now never would.


As I paused to gather my strength while my Mother waited patiently for me to tell her the "bad news"...I imagined what her first words would be once I had spoken.


"Mom...I dont know how to tell you this. Its so hard for me to do," I breathed out shuddering. She told me just to tell her...it was the only way to do it.


I took a deep breath and forced out the words...."Mom, Tammy passed away...she's dead."


For a moment I heard nothing...knowing my Mothers health problems etc I feared the worst...but was completely shocked when Mom spoke...for she said something that was nothing like what I expected...


"Tammy ...Tammy...you can finally rest now, Your demons are gone," she whispered out across the phone lines...more to herself...possibly forgetting I was there for a moment.


We realized from the obit in the papers that Tammy's funeral was only 2 days away...so my Mom and younger sis had to act fast and prepare to go attend it...even though they hadnt been informed by my sis's current husband or even any of her children....my Mom was going and that was that. Any broken relationship they may have had in life...came to an end upon death...her death.


The hardest thing about my sister's death, besides realizing she and I could never repair what had been broken now...was the fact that I had to suffer my grief alone. My husband, being the ass that he was, shouted at me for crying for her...claiming that as Muslims we werent allowed to feel sorrow over kafirs deaths...and that considering the life she lead she was most likely in Hell already!!!


He was such a bastard in those broken hearted days of mine. Of course I didnt believe him but it tore me up anyways to hear such heartless words coming from him. He wouldnt even hug me or console me in anyway...and so I suffered...quietly and alone. It was torture and I dont wish that sort of pain on anyone.


I have two boxes of pics of my life and all those who have been in it. One box is with me and the other happens to be with my daughter in Texas (she will be bringing it back to me next week...at least she better)...so I searched the box I had looking for a pic of my sis to put here...but there was only one...and its not a very flattering one at that...so I wont put it. Just so you get a picture of her...when she was young people likened her to a Tatum Oneal/Sally Fields type girl. She had the two dimples and strategically placed birth mark as well with perfectly flared hair and a white flashy smile...when she chose to use it.


She had a hard life with many abusive men scattered throughout. She suffered a severe car accident in which both her legs, among other things, were broken and she had a long haul recovery. She suffered heart problems later on which apparently eventually put her in a wheel chair in her late 30's...none of this we knew as she wouldnt allow anyone to tell us. Im not sure why her husband or children...or even any of the few friends she had...would keep such secrets for her. Some secrets just shouldnt be kept...my Mom could have been there with her...taking care of her....and basically she couldnt run away as she was prone to doing. They would have had to face each other whether she liked it or not...which is maybe why she didnt want Mom to know.


Anyhow, despite all the pain and heartbreak my sister created in our lives...we miss her terribly. Those who believe in God insist that a sinful soul as hers would find God hard pressed in allowing her access to Heaven and all its delights...I, for one, believe God forgives those with mental illness as unable to control their actions etc. She obviously suffered from some form of mental illness...whether it be bi-polar...depression...whatever.


She was a troubled soul that could never find peace in life...I hope she found peace in death.

Happy birthday sis...I miss you.