I realized this morning that today is my baby sister's 10th birthday.
This is the last picture I have with her.
I think we'd all agree that I don't casually toss around the word 'hate.' Like most hateful words, I think it's a little stronger than is generally appropriate. But today Christina kept drifting into my mind, and every time I had to make a conscious effort to not hate her mother.
This isn't the first time I've asked for strength to stop hating her. See most of March 2006, or this extra-special entry from April of the same year for past examples.
But unlike my fiery-hot rage of five years ago, this is different. This is the quiet defeat of someone who has quite literally lost her family. It's heart-break. It's knowing that, in being the bigger person and not complaining to my dad about her back-stabbing and manipulation when I had the chance, I let her win.
This afternoon, I read a painfully beautiful account of how one of my favorite bloggers said goodbye to her dying father. I cried for her, and then I found myself crying for me. Honestly (and it's my own blog, so screw anyone who calls me selfish for this) I was jealous of her. I was jealous that she had that kind of relationship with her dad. And I was jealous that she was able to say goodbye. I'm pretty sure that if my dad died tomorrow, I wouldn't be on the list of people who'd be notified. Whenever I run into him, I find myself overwhelmingly grateful just to know that he's ok. It's a pretty crappy way to go through life.
I don't know what Christina looks like now, how tall she is or whether her hair is still curly. The last time I asked about her, Dad said she was on the honor roll. Maybe she still is. I hope that she's happy, and that she turns out ok, despite living in Mother Gothel's alternate universe.
Happy birthday, baby sister.