Revised Memoir- 6.1

I’ve lived in the same house for my entire life. Through my 23 years of life, my house has been filled with joy, anger, aggression, sorrow, and every emotion in between. As we have grown up together, my sister and I are very different people. There have been times my mother has said that she would never know we are sisters. My mother reminds me of the small differences, like how my sister was constantly crying as an infant and how I almost never did. Growing up, we were treated vastly different. My sister was first at walking, talking, reading, writing and unfortunately finding trouble and following it.

When I was 10 years old my family was going through a difficult time. My grandfather had just recently passed away and my father was still an emotional wreck. He had not been working for the last several months, and my mother was paying most of our bills. My sister had just turned 13, and had begun to develop a less than appropriate temperament. She was constantly referred to as a rebel child. My parents had little assets to accommodate what was going on in their lives, much less to help my sister Jennifer.
My parents would be sitting at the dinning room table paying some bills. Jennifer would come down the stairs, “I’m going out. Bye” Before my parents could get two words out of their mouth, she was gone. Later that night, “John, did Jennifer say where she was going” my mother would ask. He would reply “No idea” as they both sat mindlessly in front of the television.
Originally I used to blame my sister for abusing my parent’s tolerance. After several months of my sister constantly breaking the rules my parents decided to try something new. My godparents had referred them to an organization called “Tough Love.” Every Tuesday night they would go to these “tough love” meetings. The goal was to control my sister through the advice of the people in the organization.
Often times I would imagine my parents at these meetings. I could see them sitting in a circle say, “Our names are John and Maryanne and we can’t control our daughter.”
Our routine would become so predictable.
Walking home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, I would walk through the door and call my grandmother to tell her I was home. Every Tuesday my mother would walk in the door at 5 pm. “Hello? Jessica?” she would call when she entered the door knowing I’d be home. “What do you want for dinner?” I didn’t really have many options. I would usually have some sort of pasta. While I was finishing homework, my father would enter. At 5:45 we would have a brief dinner. “Jessica, how was your day?” My father would ask. “It was okay.” My social life never had much interaction. This was probably the only reason my parents had no issues with my adolescence.
For years, they would just refer to this place as “the group.” While I was growing up, my parents tried to ignore the seriousness of this situation with my sister. More amazingly, while my parents were at these meetings my sister was elsewhere. She often didn’t make it home before I fell asleep. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know she was out, or just didn’t know how to react to her.
My mother would kiss my forehead right before they left. “Don’t stay up too late Jess.” I would nod, and say goodnight. Later that night I would be watching Full house. I could imagine that being the perfect family. Nothing like mine. None of the kids would ever be left alone all night every Tuesday.

At times, I am still angry about what those years did to my family.
“But why do you guys need to keep going to the group? It’s not helping us.” I would plea with my parents. My father would respond, “That’s why we’re going. We need help. We don’t know how to fix this.” I would sigh, and whisper to myself “just leave us here. Doesn’t make a difference to you.”

During the first year that my parents had been attending “the group” we nearly had a meltdown. My father and sister were having a fight. Although no one can remember the exact reason for the fight, it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence.
“Just Leave Me Alone!” my sister would yell at my father. “This is my life and I can take care of myself.” My father has always been very passive. Trying to reason with my sister was as easy as knocking down a brick wall. She stormed down the stairs with my father directly behind her. He was breathing heavily. “I’m fed up with all of this.” Right as she finished saying that, she was gone. “Jess, Jess, go get my medicine. I can barely breathe.” I was scared. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen happen to my father. “Here Dad, here’s your pills.” His eyes closed as I gave him the bottle. “DAD, DAD” I was screaming. I grabbed the phone and immediately called 911.
“911 Emergency. How can I help you?” the operator would say. “My dad was having trouble breathing and he’s not answering.” I remember the pace of my heart, which was pounding with fear. “The ambulance is on the way.”

The ambulance came immediately. When it pulled up, my neighbor came next door to see what was wrong. “Theresa, something happened to my dad. He and my sister had a big fight” I said. “Did you call your mother yet?” and I shook my head no. My neighbor had seen my sister and I grow up. She had always been there for us.
“Maryanne, you need to come home. Jennifer and John had a fight and the paramedics are here.” I can only imagine how fast my mother hung up the phone and ran out the door.
When my sister returned, the ambulance was just leaving. She walked through the door as if nothing had happened. “What the hell happened?” She looked right at my father, and deciding to walk upstairs to her room without an answer. I had never seen her with such a guilty face until that day. My mother looked as if she was alone. “Thank you for being so responsible Jess. You did a very important thing today.” She refused to look my sister in the face. I could imagine what my mother’s eyes were saying. “This is our family and you are ripping it apart. You need to change. You need to grow up.” Sitting at the dinner table, my sister was full of shame and regret. Things were very quiet that evening. After that night, I tried to look the other way when my sister and parents were arguing. This family struggle continued for the next few years. I’ll remember all of this. I’ll remember all of these memories.”
My family went through hard times the next few years. When she was 15, my parents did one of the most difficult things they had ever done. My parents were talking to my sister’s Godparents.
“We really don’t know what to do anymore. She never listens to us. We were hoping that she could stay with you for a little bit this summer. We need a break.” Her godparents accepted saying that it would be “no problem.” I could see the pain and regret on my fathers face that things had escaladed to this.

During my freshman year of high school my sister and I shared the same school for the first time. Nearly all of my teachers knew who I was because of her, and needless to say it was not always a good thing. “Is it true she has been kicked out of the house? She has been in so many fights. I heard she was even kicked out of conflict mediation.” In her senior year of high school she began to face the reality that in one more year if she was kicked out, she was an adult. “I guess I’ve been putting you guys through a lot haven’t I? I’m sorry. This is who I am.” Things weren’t perfect. They still aren’t perfect. My parents have learned a lot about accommodation though.
I’ve never fully accepted the decisions my parents and my sister made during those years. In relevance, the decisions they made probably helped our family survive.
They have always been there for me when I need them to be. Because of this experience, they realized that I need my personal space and I also need parents. They realized that if they constantly pressure me for information about my life I will close them out of my life just as she did. Although my sister and I have very little in common, we still come from the same family.