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Thoughts on My Sister

February 21, 2008

Not sure how much I will be writing for a bit. This is a hard time of year for me. My sister’s birthday, followed in a couple of months by the anniversary of her death on my birthday tends to be an emotional time. I am reminded of how the memories of her are locked up deep inside. Some part of me remembers her, I am sure. But me, out here, consciously, does not. And the bits and pieces I do remember…are mostly not good.

I have placed her in Yahweh’s loving hands, for there is no better place to be. I have letters from her, somewhere, from when she was about 12. She writes of Jesus. She trusted Him back then. They tried to take that from her. When I had spoken to her as an adult she was into something totally different. But I trust that the little child within her never really gave up on Jesus. Actually, it is more that I trust that Yeshua/Jesus never gave up on her. He promises to never lose anyone the Abba/Father gives Him. He promises that NO one can take anyone from Him. Those promises comfort me when I think of my sister.

I picture her in heaven, in my Abba/Father’s lap, being held by Him with His big strong arms around her, holding her close to Him. I “see” her leaning with her head on His strong chest, listening to His heart beating out of love for her, protecting her and giving her the love she always deserved to have from our bio father and did not get.

I “see” Him honoring her in ways that we were not honored. Respecting her in ways that we were not respected. I “see” Him being that Daddy that we so desperately needed and did not have.

I grieve for what my sister went through in this life. I grieve for the healthy relationship we never had. I grieve for the ways my mother purposely tried to keep us apart and never let us develop a fun relationship. I grieve for the way my sister became bulimic in a desperate attempt to have some control over her life. I grieve for the way she started to drink at 12.

I grieve for the way another cult group tried to gain control over her…and did. I grieve for the way she was manipulated and controlled…all for the sake of others’ power trips. I grieve for the way she was trained in the ways of the cult…just as I was. I grieve for the child she miscarried in the pizza parlor that she honored me by trusting me enough to tell me about.

I am thankful that I got to see her a few times in the years before she died. I am thankful that she got to see her youngest nephew and meet Dave. I am thankful that she was a fighter who would not give up. I am thankful for the few things I have of hers to remember her by. I am thankful/hopeful that she no longer has to endure the pain of this life. I pray that she truly is in heaven and that they no longer have her.

Thinking of her brings up so much for me. The family power struggles. The cult power struggles. The controlling and manipulating. The jealousies. The false guilt trips. So much sick stuff in my family of origin. (FOO) I remember thinking the first time I saw “foo”…how appropriate! Foo on my foo!!

I sit here writing with tears sliding down my cheeks. I remember when I first decided to seek her out. It felt as if we were strangers. I felt NO emotional connection to her at all. But she was my sister. I sought her out and tried to develop some kind of relationship with her simply because…she was my sister.

It was incredibly hard. Of course, back then, I had no idea of our cult background. It was still buried deep within. We were both still being accessed, but I was clueless. Trust was not there. She did not trust me…and actually, with good reason I realized many years later. **sigh**

When she died, I had gone away to work with a woman who was a lay counselor. We were praying and asking Yahweh to bring healing and to restore the memories and show us what was inside. It was an incredible, awesome time. And during that time, she died under rather suspicious circumstances. I got two radically different stories regarding her death. Neither of them made any real sense.

A therapist I work with who has many years of experience with cult survivors had the sense that her death, timed as it was, may have been a warning to me as I was pushing to remember and deal with my past; which, of course, resulted in my eventually breaking free from my parents and the cult. Sometimes, I wonder if it is was that they were afraid that, if I broke free, I might actually be able to help her get free. And they did want to give her up. Well, if they did kill her, or in any way contribute to her death, they just set her free. They cannot touch her in death. Nope! She is safe now. And I will hold onto that.

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