"You shouldn't feel sick all the time," My sister chirps like an obnoxious parrot taught a new phrase.
'That's why they call it a disease," I state in my defense. "If it was pleasant everyone would want to have one."
We are only part-blood sisters. Some important, precious element that makes up the blood is missing. Which one, I do not know but if I did I'd find it and inject it into our blood, our lives so we could be the same. It's more than different fathers that twists and separates our DNA.
I have too many in my part-blood family, some I haven't seen since childhood, though I hope they know they are loved and always in my heart.
Indifference and coldness blows through my family like a harsh winter wind. There are no happy family gatherings where lives and gossip are shared. There is only you and me, no us.
When death reached out it's hand to me I said 'yes'. I searched my soul and found no love or warmth so I took his hand because at least it wanted me.
I hear in that other place you are bathed in love like a warm soothing bath. The pain seeps from your soul and you watch it swirl around and around the drain until it's gone. But my sister angrily pulled me back to this place of pain and isolation. There is no gratitude from me only tears for a peace lost.
I sit every day and wonder about this part-blood condition I don't understand.
Maybe that's why I embrace the non-bloods so tightly in hopes of creating the family I don't have. I know it'll never work because there is something in the DNA that binds us. It shows death the door or stops your St. Bernard from killing you when you were a kid.
It had no doubt been done to avoid explaining to an angry mother if they had failed or was it done out of guilt for years of childhood teasing and torture. I just wished it had been done out of love not DNA.