Since my last post my sister continues to struggle. She is in and out of the hospital and in-between detox, the psych ward and home. But in between all of that we talk. And I guess we talk about things we’ve never talked about before. I can’t help but feel that there is a connection between her new-found openness and her complete inability to deal with her life. I suspect it’s all the things that she has carried deep inside of her all of these years, that have finally made their way to the surface. And without real professional help and understanding, these things are way too big for her to cope with. In between our book talk and our occasional giggles, she sounds fragile. And when I find out she’s started to drink, cut,  or runaway again,  the anger that I’ve carried with me all these years seems to have disappeared. I don’t feel that she’s  not trying hard enough anymore. I think she’s tried more than hard enough. It’s that she just doesn’t see a path that isn’t painful. I think if she could be extricated from all of her pain, she would choose life. She told me that and I believe her. I think it’s everything in between that gets in the way. I used to think that I could help my sister. I don’t know that I really feel that way anymore. I try to talk to her kids. Call them, make them laugh. Or just chat. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do. And this is the way we go for now. This is how we carry on. Day by day. Minute by minute. I always thought life could change on a dime. And I see that more clearly than ever before. But still I can’t help but wish and hope that somehow this is still going to turn out alright.