My father was abusive and immature and my mother was mentally ill, so I learned
at an early age to take care of myself and to stay extra quiet when dad was in,
" one of his moods." My days were always tinged with fear, but children are
resilient, and I found ways to be joyful amidst the turmoil.
I was seven years older then my baby sister. Nellie was an audacious child, so
on the days when we needed to be quiet I would make up secret games in which we
had to sneak around in silence, or hide under the covers from an imaginary
villain. Little did she know that the real villain, was just down the hall.
Nellie was my second shadow. She looked to me for entertainment and sometimes
for food. There were days when mom wouldn’t get out of bed. Nellie would cry
from hunger so I would take her out in the back yard to my walnut stash. I had a
large rock with an indent in the middle. It was perfect for cracking my black
walnuts. I used a smaller rock to crack open the nuts and one of mothers hair
pins to pick the meat from the shell.
Nellie would squat down beside me and watch wide-eyed as I proudly displayed my
skills, then as I dislodged the meat from the shell she would hold out her
little hand. I watched her eyes light up, as she munched happily on the golden
nuggets. That would go well for a while, until my stomach would start grumbling
with hunger. That little hand would reappear, just in time for the next hulled
meat.
"Wait Nellie," I would coax, "I need one." She would tuck her little hand back
in her lap, watching with eager eyes as I quickly ate mine and went back to work
on another for Nellie.
Through the childhood years and into adulthood, that’s the way our lives went. I
was always the big sister, filling Nellie’s hands with whatever she needed at
the time.
Nellie suffers with the same mental illness that my mother had. The day she was
diagnosed, I refused to believe it. I drug her to every doctor I could find,
looking for a different diagnosis, but I didn’t find one. I was angry with God.
Why would he allow Nellie to be born, only to suffer all her life with this
endless nightmare? It was as if I’d been diagnosed with the illness myself . . .
Or maybe worse. Here was something that I didn’t know how to fix. It broke my
heart. All I could do was be there for her, and try to protect her the best I
knew how.
There came a time in our lives when a family tragedy rendered me helpless. Our
sister Judy was killed in a car wreck and I found for the first time in my life,
I was the one needing help. I approached Nellie that day like a broken vessel,
wondering how I could help her when I couldn’t help myself. As she opened the
door, a strange thing happened. She saw the pain in my eyes and she reached out
her hand... that little hand that had always been so needy, was now offering
strength. As I collapsed in her arms, I could feel her hand patting my back as
she spoke. " We’ll get through this together. We always have." It was in that
instant that I understood clearly for the first time, how important Nellie was
to me. All those years I thought she needed me, but I never realized how much I
needed her. I had needed someone to care for. I had needed someone to entertain.
God in his infinite wisdom, sees to our needs in ways we often don’t understand.
I now thank God every day for Nellie’s life, and all the treasured moments we’ve
shared.
Bobby Smith copyright 2003 Indy113@yahoo.com
My husband and I took early retirement, downsized our lives and moved into a log
cabin, nestled in the wooded hills of Arkansas. I enjoy writing poetry and short
stories, many of which have been featured in E-zines. 2the heart featured my
"True Love" story and two poems, Dancing Holly and On a Clear Day.
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