August 25, 2015, 4:13 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I am writing this to you here because, well, I suppose I no longer have any choice – I’ve nowhere to send it anymore. I was feeling drab this past week and was in the bathroom two-toning my hair. You’d probably be shocked at I’m the type of person that colors her hair half purple/half red – but you’d probably have loved it and touched it while we caught up the happenings of the last 17 or so years. Because, yep, it’s been almost 17. The last time I saw you, my oldest was just a fat little baby on my knee. Now he’s 18 and graduated high school. Imagine that! And I have 4 more and a farm and I try to keep in touch with your kids, too, because they haven’t been dragged through the twisted maze of beautiful facades that you and I were… I have said a thousand times in the last 5 1/2 years, since I “left” the family, that I needed to get back in touch with you. To call, to stop in. Instead, life’s constant busy and the overwhelming thought of having to wade through the accusations I’m sure you heard kept me from that. I thought, once they were gone, we’d have an easier chance. You were, afterall, only 50. And then I got the call while my hair was piled in wet colors on my head. “Mary Louise, I didn’t want you to find out on Facebook… Lauri passed away in her sleep last night”. My heart sank.

I remember you when I was small – you got stuck with me a lot and I remember a time when you were so mad, you kicked me in the shins with those ugly assed thick soled shoes from the 70’s. I remember crying, I remember you getting in trouble but I also remember you dancing with me to Michael Jackson and laughing delightfully because I knew all the words. You were child like, sweet and kind and sometimes fiery. You had your own Series of Unfortunate Events that led to anxieties I can’t comprehend. You were preyed upon by monsters, at times, but you stayed kind and sweet and fiery. I learned that from you. To stay you, no matter what is thrown at you. I’m trying.

I remember when you were going to court for your kids and, when my mother came home, she said in disgust how you “didn’t even fight”. I can now say that when I was doing the same, that same woman told my children my brain was sick and that I abandoned them… so I am sorry I didn’t know enough to speak up for you. I didn’t realize so many games were at play, with all us as pawns to get a desired outcome. I’m sorry I didn’t realize for so long how we were all vying for a position of love – how quickly it was given and taken at will and decision.

I’m most sorry I won’t be there at your funeral. I won’t be there because it will become a “thing” and take away from you. I would want to be there only to say goodbye to the sister I feel a bit robbed of by circumstance – so I’ll instead take a moment here, away from the drama, and send these words today and my love on the day you’ll be laid to rest. I’ll find a spot somewhere on this farm that I wish you could have visited and maybe I’ll put on a little Michael Jackson and some ugly shoes and dance with you.