Janice, 4/28/1953 -- 10/1/2011

My sister died last night at age fifty-eight. She was an alcoholic who could not stop drinking, and in the end the addiction took her life.

Naturally, like me Janice was the product of a terribly dysfunctional and punishing family. At age twelve she lost her mother to suicide. Before that there is good reason to suspect sexual molestation. She suffered many traumas during her life, including terrifying car crashes, rapes, robberies, and death threats. When young she was drawn to violent and cruel men. She was fortunate in her last twenty years to have found a gentle and caring man who loved her despite her frequent outbursts and attacks of rage. Although Jan could say the most hurtful things when drunk or angry, she also had a tender and childlike side that was deeply touching to behold. Unlike me, she could muster optimism and good cheer despite her problems. In the final months of her life she adopted a chihuahua puppy, Lucy, who brought her delight. I enjoyed hearing my sister talk about the dog’s antics; I was reminded of my sister at her best, during her happiest and most life-loving times.

The sad thing about traumatizing upbringings is that they make relationships difficult. It becomes hard to trust, and Jan had great difficulty believing that she was loved. She could idealize you one minute, then demonize you the next. Having come from the same cauldron of violence and loss, I responded intensely to her shifts, and this led to many conflicts between us. I understood her reasons for acting as she did, but the knowledge did little to lessen my own reactions and hurtful retaliations. It was sad to see our relationship deteriorate, because when I was little Jan acted as a surrogate mom. During our mother’s depressions and psychiatric hospitalizations, Jan would make me lunch, play with me, and attempt to make me laugh. She was wonderful back then, which made the tension between us all the more tragic as we got older.

Fortunately, in the past six months we were able to enjoy some brief but tender phone conversations. I finally learned to quit pushing her to go to Alcoholics Anonymous. I learned to let her ventilate when she felt frustrated. By accepting her as she was, she showed me again the joyful soul I remembered from long before. She wouldn’t let me visit, since she felt embarrassed by her declining health and appearance. But we did speak regularly, and without rancor. I am so very glad. I will miss her.

The awful thing about childhood mistreatment is that it casts a shadow over an entire life. Jan never really had a chance after the trauma of her upbringing. She never learned to fight for her self or her health. For a long time this angered me, and I regret my inability to simply love her unconditionally since the last thing she needed was more negative appraisals. But at least during one of the last times I saw her we had a reconciliation, and I told her what a difference her love had made during my own childhood. To a large extent, I owe my continued ability to try to find happiness to Jan, who was the one constant in my life during my early years. I told her that, and it seemed to touch her.

Life is tragic, and all-too-often we hurt the ones we love. Sometimes all we can do to heal the past is to act better in the present. I think my sister and I both tried hard to love one another these past few months. I am grateful for that, even as I feel so much sorrow.

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