To My Sister-in-Law

You found this blog, didn't you? You found RJ's (my little sister) Twitter account and you tracked me down via my year-old-pic of JR that I use as my profile pic (or something like that). Regardless, there is no doubt that you're here.

I must confess. I feel a little naked. Or, at the very least, scantily clad in a see-through nighty (so attractive on a nearly 8-month pregnant woman) and footie socks. Yes, I have told a couple REAL LIFE people about this space, but otherwise, I remain heavily cloaked in the shaky promise of anonymity.

It isn't that I am trying to hide from you, from anyone. Well, maybe it is . . . it is just that sometimes in this space I say things, do things that might prompt questions, concerns, fits of utter hilarity, thoughts that maybe I need therapy. Deep and constant therapy.

Then again. I play it safe. I let thoughts linger on the precipice, teetering between the abstract and the concrete. I am fiercely protective . . . even though very few know who I am.

You should see the posts I have in draft.

I have written about our family history, no doubt stories you've heard from the perspective of my little brother, your husband, the father to my niece (that still seems so weird--my little brother, a father, a husband, about to hit a major milestone b-day--strange, surreal).

Writing has slowly become my therapy. My way to sort out the mix of histories and make sense of them all. Where did I, we, come from? How did we get here? How did we grow from the family that "couldn't afford a Happy Meal" to a family that has defied our trailer park destiny? How did we navigate the choppy parental waters, filled with our mother's predatory past and our father's disconnection--how did we do it and still thrive?

How did my brother find you? You, him? How did I end up with someone who was surely promised to someone else--a cultured, wealthy woman from a good family, no doubt? How did RJ and Cat (little and baby sisters, respectively) end up confident, ambitious, absolutely amazing when they were never supposed to leave the broken down yellow house on the street lined with rusted cars and hints of futures that were never meant to be?

How did we get here?

I sit in your cozy living room and watch as our children play together. The way Little L touches JR's head, looking at him as if he is the most fascinating creature she has ever seen. How JR watches, enraptured, as she spins her little body around to the heavy beat of music that fills the room. I look at you, at my brother and I feel full.

Even when we slam phones, scream expletives, shake our fists, spit out insults (volitility was our sustenance for so long, we can't help but sometimes ache for its comfort, its familiarity), I know that what resides in us is peace. We know we are loved. We know that know matter what we will be there for one another.

I will be there for you. No matter what. And though tender words laced with tearful emotions have never passed between us, I think you'd be there for me . . . no matter what.

This is my space. This is where I share stories about JR, your nephew, our life, both past and present, my thoughts about anything, everything. I release, I purge, I laugh, I share, I ache, I reach out with these posts. Some of them suck. Some of them don't. Some of them are funny. A lot of them are not.

But, they are as me as I can be. And for now, that's enough.

So, that said . . . welcome to my space.

By the way, what does my little brother want for his birthday?

Oh, and one more teeny, tiny thing . . . if my mom ever asks you about me and my blog, your answer should be, "Blog? What blog? Does L have a blog?" K?

Love,
L