Debbie, a Year Later.
One year ago, on July 31st, my eldest sister Debbie called me in the morning. I was getting in the shower to get ready to drive myself and Dee to Vernal for our monthly trip. Dee had to work that night, and we were running short on several things needed for the house and wouldn’t be able to attempt the journey again until Tuesday or Friday the following week. We had planned the trip around the same time each month and bought supplies like dog food accordingly. Debbie called to ask if I could take her to her dentist appointment that day in less than an hour.
I was exasperated. I wouldn’t have had an issue with driving Debbie had she called me the week before or earlier in the same week. I was mad and snapped at her about it. I told her sorry, but no, I wouldn’t be able to take her. Not on such short notice. That was the last conversation I had with my eldest sister. At about 2 p.m. the next day, August 1st, I’d get a call while at work to let me know she had passed away in her sleep the night before.
I was crushed. Some of my co-workers comforted me while I broke down in the backroom. After I composed myself, I clocked out, drove to her home, and talked to her daughter Mellisa about what happened. Then I called Dee and told her as well.
The last time I spoke to my sister, I was not kind to her, and I refused to help her.
Now my siblings are a great group of people. We’ve had our differences over the years, and sometimes those differences were ugly and bitter, but never for long. When our mother passed away, there was no fighting or ugly disagreement. There was no bargaining or shutting people out of the family. We were there for each other.
But…
We were all guilty of shunning Debbie at various points in her (and our) lives. Whether it was dropping off all the kids for Aunt Debbie to watch while the parents went off and had fun, or like me, refusing to help because it wasn’t convenient, or because she seemed to ask all the time. She was useful until she wasn’t anymore. We all had moments where we treated her poorly or like a burden.
We didn’t treat her like this all the time. It wasn’t continuous abuse or neglect on anyone’s part. Instead, we would take advantage of Debbie’s kindness at times or feel burdened with her needs at others. I had many pleasant conversations with my eldest sister, both in person and over the phone. She loved all of us, and she forgave us when we abused her hospitality or ridiculed her for her lack of ambition. Everything I wrote in my eulogy for her, I meant thousand times over. My nieces and nephews will probably attest that she was one of the kindest and loving human beings they knew. She was, but she struggled.
Mental health isn’t something that we like to talk about, and my eldest sister struggled mightily with it. She suffered from chronic depression her entire life. She had anxiety problems too. I’m sure there may have been other mental health hurdles that I’m not aware of that her children could elucidate for me. Dealing with somebody suffering from depression isn’t easy, and it’s easy to fall into the trap of blaming them for it. That is where we failed Debbie the most, and it’s particularly egregious on my part, as I suffer from some of the mental health hurdles that she did.
I’m not writing this to make anybody reflect and then feel guilty. I’ve done that enough for all of us. My last conversation with my eldest sister wasn’t a great one, and I hurt her feelings, I’m sure, by rejecting her ask for help. In the year since Debbie passed, a great deal has changed for me. While not all of the changes have been negative, the negative changes dwarf the positive changes in many ways. One thing that I’ve had to reconcile is my relationship with my mental health.
I struggle with it and will likely continue to do so for the rest of my life. It’s a great bear on my back, and it digs its claws in me daily. If I seem reticent to participate in gatherings or have you drop by for a visit, this is likely the reason. Although I will not always feel comfortable going to these family events, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the invite. It also doesn’t mean that I won’t come if I am invited, only that if I do not attend, then I wasn’t mentally able to prepare myself for the event. This is true of game nights with friends and work parties too. It is likewise for spontaneous visits. I like to know in advance so I can be mentally ready.
As for Debbie. I can’t take back what I said to her during our last conversation. I can’t make amends as now she’s gone. But I can remember her and who she was. It’s the little things like how she would say “Hey little brother” when she’d greet me or how she’d end every conversation with “Love you, little bro.” How she was the only one who could get away with calling me “sweety Petey.” I’ll remember the few times we played D&D together and how she was excited to try out her new dice. Or how she’d sing. I can’t forget the ugly last moment we had, but I can remember the thousand sweet, simple moments too, and for me, that’s enough.
