My baby sister is coming to visit me.
She will arrive the day after my birthday, but the date is mostly coincidental. It's not about me. Really it is a mental health break for her, from school, from the bleak winter landscape of the Pacific Northwest, from the drama of our dysfunctional family members... from life.
I love my sister. It's still hard for me to see her sometimes; but it's getting better. I hope that one day, we can spend time together and it will just be good, without any effort. I hope that one day we can forget, even for a little while, the horrors we've endured. I hope that one day, when I look at her, I no longer see the little girl I tried so hard -- in vain -- to save.
I think already our relationship is not so strained as it once was. There are a lot of unspoken hurts, old wounds, memories of circumstances way outside of our control. There are tears yet to be shed. But there is life yet to be lived, too. There are lunches to be had, and coffee dates. There are flights to book and visits to look forward to. There are plans to be made. There are weddings and baby showers, and watching our kids grow up; kids who like themselves, and eachother -- because we taught them how, as we're teaching ourselves.
And that's what gives fuel to this strange new hope I have: the knowledge that every day we each are growing stronger and more whole -- and believing, against all odds, that the effort cannot help but pay off in the end.