The Promise

In the last days of my mother's life, when I understood that she was not going to get better, it was agonizing to see her suffer. It seemed that she was holding on for some reason. I tried to allay her fears. I told her not to worry about me. I told her that I loved her and that I knew she loved me and that I would be okay. I didn't believe it myself, but I felt that it was very important that she not feel that she had to hang on and suffer more because of how I was going to deal with her death. The next day her breathing was worse, she would not close her eyes, and I felt that maybe there was something else she needed to know. I told her that I would take care of everyone. I told her that everyone would be okay, and that I would be there for everyone. And then, because the thought seemed an inspiration, I assured her that I would also take care of my next-younger sister with whom I have had a contentious and barely civil relationship. If that was what my mother wanted, then by God I was going to give it to her.

I think my mother would have been proud at how well my sisters and I got along in the days after her death. We were all definitely supportive of each other and we did not let petty differences come between us. We were even loving toward each other. I had hoped that this would usher in a new relationship between us all, but especially with the sister with whom I had had years of trouble.

I can't say that my sister kept up the communication after returning home. But there were occasional text messages and I gave her some space. I would not insist on phone conversations or emails and burden this new friendship. I would take what I could get. Then the texts became few and far between. One night, while I was in the depths of despair, I exposed my hopes to my sister in an email. This is what I wrote:

"I thought things would be different between us. I tried to respect your occasional texts and accept them as the best I could get. But I am very hurt and just want you to know that I had hoped for more. I wouldn't even be writing this except I am having a terrible time tonight, wishing for the impossible - I want to talk to Mommie. I want to understand. I want to not feel the pressure of anxiety. I'm passing along this picture. It is a killer, but also very beautiful. Love, Jan

It has been a month since I sent that. I have not received a response in any form. I was honest and I asked for more of my sister. She has given me nothing in return, not even a respectful acknowledgment of my feelings, even if they are not shared.

So have I broken my promise to my mother? Do my feelings count? No matter what happened in the past, all is different now. Our mother is dead. We should be there for each other. We should be considerate of each other's feelings. But we can't do that if we are not in touch, and honest, and giving. I feel foolish for opening myself up to her, I feel rejected and humiliated. But in my heart, I know that my mother is proud that I tried. At least I hope she is.