My sister, Liz died this week. Her death made me think about our family and how fractured it is, so I wrote this poem:
We were broken.
We were children brought up with abuse, lies and recriminations.
We were humiliated, put down and made to feel shame,
We were blamed for the failures of our parents
And made to feel responsible for their emotional contentment.
We were pitched one against the other and never learned to unite.
The accusations we internalized as children
Stayed with us until the bitter end.
We were broken.
We played roles,
But we were all too broken to play any of them well.
One became the Caretaker, but her own youthful needs stood in her way.
One became the Scapegoat, but her endless fight against this label
Only set her up for more blame and reproach.
One became the dependent Baby whose needs could never be met
By siblings too self-absorbed and lacking any sense of self-worth.
We were broken.
One became the Instigator who perpetually stirred up discontent.
And the parents who defined us? They stood on their pedestals even after death
With their long-gone but still audible voices directing the play.
Never criticize them. Never blame them. Never speak ill of the dead.
We were their victims and we were broken-
Too broken to unite and lift each other up.
Ever fragmented and tearing each other down.
We are broken still today.
Liz was a Christian, and I wonder how she reconciled the turmoil and divisiveness within our family to her beliefs? One way was by Gaslighting and rewriting our history. In the end, we must all cope somehow. Farewell, Liz. Hope you are blissfully reunited with your daughter.
dottieriley 