As those of you who live stateside are probably aware, there were a whole heckuva lot of tornadoes in the South and Midwest last night. Nineteen of those were in my native Missouri, where the death toll stands at 12 as of this writing.* For 7 to 10 days prior, there were increasingly urgent warnings of a strong likelihood of tornadoes, and all eyes (well, mine and Crankenstein’s) turned toward Youngest Sister, whose family lives in a sardine can. By which I mean they live in a trailer, and not a nice one.
We’ll get into that more when I finally finish my post about the differences and similarities between me and my siblings, but what’s relevant tonight is that it would’ve been wildly irresponsible for my sister and brother-in-law not to find a safer place for their family during the hours the tornado warning(s) would be in effect. She wanted to stick close to home for various reasons, including an old and ailing dog who can’t be easily transported and fear of downed trees or power lines stranding them too far away.
This narrowed her options to one: our parents’ house in a nearby town. The only problem? Our sister Tom lives there now and the two of them are bitterly estranged. The hemming and hawing about this from all sides was idiotic: Youngest Sister, whose family lacks disposable income, was so desperate to avoid seeing Tom that she was willing to rent an AirBNB with a basement if one was available. And our mother, who is nearly as far up Tom’s ass as Tom is herself, also wanted to avoid a showdown and made a series of comments in private exchanges that made Youngest Sister think sheltering with our parents for a few hours wasn’t an option.
Crankenstein and I, who were busy with things of our own (including a big work event for Crankenstein and a friend’s cancer scare), were about to pull our hair out on Friday as they continued to dawdle. That afternoon, when Youngest Sister said they’d probably try their luck in the trailer, I got too fed up to remain quiet. It seemed obvious that part of the problem — Tom’s an enormous germaphobe — was that Youngest Sister’s family recently had the flu and someone at my parents’ house was concerned about contagion. There was talk about whether the kids would wear masks and so on.
Exasperated, I blurted out in the group chat that even ‘Niles’ would agree this isn’t the time to worry about germs; my sister’s family’s safety was more important than that. Youngest Sister contacted me outside of the group chat afterward to say my declaration prompted our mother to invite her family over. Tom, she was informed, would head out of town and their paths wouldn’t cross. What on earth was going on at my parents’ house during this period of indecision, and in their heads, I’m not sure — but then again, that’s usually how I feel when considering their strange relationship with Tom. I’d like to think Youngest Sister misinterpreted the conversations she’d had with our mom that week, but she sounded rather disillusioned.
In the end, it all worked out: Youngest Sister didn’t have to deal with scared kids screaming in the bathroom during tornado warnings, which has happened in the past.** Our mom made them dinner, our dad played trains with his grandson, and the safety of their basement was just a few steps away. But why did this have to be so stupid and protracted and foolish? Why isn’t Tom, who is in her thirties, adult enough to face the people she hurts after she treats them so badly? And why do our parents enable it?
We all have our own theories, most of which are similar, but this drove me nuts because of the involvement of children — actual children, not Tom with her Peter Pan bullshit. It also bugged me because even though Tom and I have a more civil relationship than she currently has with Youngest Sister, I feel alienated from my family in much the same way. It’s clear from our interactions with my parents that Tom’s always hovering around, trying to dictate the terms of their relationships with everyone, and that they’re afraid to cross her even though they deny it. And she’s so crazy right now that I don’t want to share much about my life with our parents because it’ll all get back to her and become grist for her next vindictive outburst.^
Maybe it’s time they give her a taste of her own medicine. Why not sit her down, like she did with the ex she was (also) always trying to control, and tell her they’ve been on a journey of self-discovery and have concluded they aren’t monogamous as parents and need to open up their relationship?
* I almost jokingly referred to it as my ancestral homeland, but that might’ve necessitated a 2,000 page footnote, complete with maps and family trees, attempting to determine my actual ancestral homeland. My Jewish ancestors were, for obvious reasons, a peripatetic bunch.
** There were, in fact, tornadoes in Youngest Sister’s neck of the woods, though her neighborhood was fine other than some nearby stores losing signs.
^ She doesn’t realize this but I’m already far past the end of my rope with her. If I heard her say a single hateful thing about Joe’s death or my illness (or my disability application, which my family doesn’t know about), or if she insulted Crankenstein or made one more bitchy reference to my previous relationship while trying to defend her current entanglement, I’d go so nuclear on her she’d never recover. Her anger is that of a tyrannical toddler, it isn’t informed by injustice or experience. That means she’s really good at dishing it out and terrible at taking it.