If you believe in God, do you ever ask why he gave you all the problems he did, why he gave you such a treacherous Mother and Sister, the Mother maybe dead but the sister still lives, and thanks to my late Husband I am stuck with her in my House, I am trapped and have been now since 1981.
Sisters, do you have one, I have one in name only what I really have is the biggest bitch alive, you may find what I am saying shocking, but if nothing else I always tell the truth. I have endured my so called sister for all my life, just over two years freedom I had from her when I married and had a home well away from my Parents. Yet the Honeymoon my late husband chose was the week after we married in our new Home, on the Friday my mother insisted my sister four years older than me, and a vicious individual, be our house guest for that weekend, one week married and this was my life to now, stuck with this bitch. I have endured practically all my life chained to my so called sister.
You want to know what type she is, she banned me from seeing my Mother when she was dying in my home, the home I gave them both. My two Sons and myself were banned from entering my Mother’s room by my sister. I would sneak into the bedroom when my sister was at work, and change my mother’s urine, excrement stained bedding with my Sons help, we were appalled and told the Doctor who said my Mother should be put into care. That alone caused terrible trouble, threats of violence, screaming my so called sister has all these methods to get her own way and she always seems to win. The Doctor reluctantly gave in receiving advice from Practice Sister that the violence that would be caused to me had to be considered.
I am deaf on one side, my left side, as a result of my sisters fists on my head, I have put up with many acts of violence from her over the years, my earliest remembrance was when I was perhaps about two and she poured a saucepan of boiling water over my hands, my mother had told her to wash my hands, I was told to put my hands in this bowl and she poured the water straight on, my mother covered up what had been done, perhaps this was the start. I was pushed by my sister down the school Iron staircase. She acts the innocent little old spinster picked on, like hell. I don’t remember a time growing up when I was not bullied by her, by my mother, always too scared to do anything even to live. I married a man old enough to be my father because that he would defend me keep me safe, like hell he believed all their lies only before he died did he apologise to me and say how wrong he had been he could see the truth now, too late yes far too late.
Violence, never seemed too far away or the threat of violence. Bamboo canes, fists, pinching, hair pulling, newspapers across the head, red white marks left on the flesh the stinging I remember. but to me it was normal, was it – NO of course not. People say I am lonely no I’m not lonely but I am a loner and this is probably why. I do trust people too easily and without fail always get let down, always hurt. So I withdraw into myself where it is safe only me can hurt me.
To give you an idea of my sister, my mother and her would never be happier than to start a row, my husband would warn me, but me stupid and soft I never could see it and would fall for their games every time, I would be shouting for them to stop and all the time my sister would be dialing neighbours not saying anything just letting them hear me shouting. Or she would open the back doors and front doors, this is the bitch she is, my mother not much better. I did all the shopping, all the cooking all the cleaning, still do all the cleaning of the house and cover all the repairs to this too big house.
I am trapped, I was a little Bird that was let out of its cage then my husband put me back in it and I am still here. My mother is dead, and what did my sister do, she organised everything, I had to ask permission to say goodbye to my mother. My mother the devout Roman Catholic who spoke about her late husband, my Father all the time and how she was going to be buried with Jack, she even purchased the plot. What did my sister do, she cremated my mother and kept the ashes in a jar in my mother’s wardrobe, still there.
I managed to read a report from Health visitors who unknown to me had visited my mother, the report was shocking to read. How the excrement was stuck to my mother, to the bedding how she was not washed it went on and on and although it shocked me I was not shocked this was my sister, who to this day does not seem to care. My sister would take £10.00 a week from my mother, every Friday my mother would put it on my sister’s dresser, for the Insurance Policy – “Sun Life Assurance Company” I kept asking over the years to see a copy of this policy and was always ignored. There was no policy, when I rang Sun Life there was no such policy, my sister pocketed the money every week, then claimed off the State to pay for my mothers funeral. Which was an absolute farce.
I went to the Crematorium and sat there as the Priest said all these nice things about this woman, I did not recognise “wonderful mother, kind generous, loving” you get the point, my sister kept her head down and all I could think about was the Swoosh swoosh of the bamboo cane as it would come down on my flesh, with me screaming and being threatened “shut up or you will get more”, I thought it was what happened in all Catholic families, it was Child abuse I know that now, I have never and will never get over it. Scars may heal, well not all, but the scars in my mind will never go away. My mother prided herself on the claim that she was never jealous/envious over anyone, the truth, well thats completely different. My mother was a very jealous woman, jealous of her own sisters for different reasons. The sister in Ireland, that I was named after my real name is Hannah, my mother was jealous of that sister because she gave birth to a Son, my mother lost one – terrible tragedy of course but along with not just being jealous was the viciousness behind the backs, my mother even resented my first child, a Son when my second son was born I sealed my fate so to speak. My mother complained to my husband about there were enough children, just the two, in our house and that there should be no more. My husband said “no more” to me, and that was that, it broke my heart.
I have said this before in the past, but it is relevant – my mother waited 30 years and half an hour after my Father Died to tell me she never liked or wanted me, what a bitter woman that is, she could hold such a feeling for her own daughter that long.
The hypocrisy of the cremation was far too much for me and as the curtains started to move to take the coffin I stood up and said turning to this so called sister “this is wrong so wrong and you know it” I walked out, later to be approached by the Priest, I told him the truth and he was visibly shocked, said had he known the truth he would never have done this service, said he was surprised that my sister had told him my mother insisted on a Cremation being the devout Catholic, there you have it. She even told my Mother’s Family in Ireland I had insisted on the Cremation, the truth was finally told she was caught out. My mothers ashes can’t be laid to rest with my Father’s, as the Grave, the plot belongs to myself and my so called sister, without my permission she cannot put my mothers ashes there, and vice versa she has never asked.
My so called sister stole the money my Father intended for me. The house that my parents owned, my Father always said when he died the house would go to my mother, I never questioned it and when she died the house or the money would be split between my sister and myself as there was only the two of us, what did she do she persuaded my mother to hand it all over to her, my half, in order to buy into this house my house – my husband lent my sister the rest of the money as she did not have enough to buy in, when he died I found out she never paid it back and never will. I argued with my husband as did our Solicitor that the house should not be 50/50 between my sister and myself but my mother insisted and my husband gave in, my money she stole to buy into this plus the money lent to her and I have been stuck with her ever since.
My sister doesn’t believe in cleaning her rooms in this house, or even helping out to do any housework, only hoovering the hall because my youngest son asked her to help out, its all beneath her. Cleaning is something she never does, she does not believe in keeping herself clean either, she has always smelt, always, still does. When I started work in the City had to travel up to Liverpool Street Station every day with her, my mother would not allow me to go to work on my own, I was so glad to leave her at Liverpool Street and travel to Chancery Lane. Where I could pretend to be someone else. Yet every evening I would have to be escorted home from Liverpool Street in London to home. As a teenager it was so embarrassing to stand next to her she stunk, and she still does. Even here in the house in the height of winter all my windows are wide open, its cold but the house needs fresh air, what a way to live you may ask, yes precisely.
You maybe asking why did I stay – I don’t know the answer to that before my two Sons were born I should have left, walked away never married made a life for myself, I had the offers but I never took them obviously. Too scared, too scared of life perhaps, not strong enough, yet I know I would have coped I would have found it hard yet I would have enjoyed trying to make a success of my life.
What have I done, well besides marrying raising two Sons on my own when my husband died and the Boys were young, and looking after this house and my mother and so called sister thats been it. Nothing else to speak of.
Have I enjoyed Life, hell No. Do I like existing, No is the simple answer. Of late I have come to recognise I am tired, I am worn out, completely worn out, I see no point apart from my Sons for going on. Sooner or later they must face life without me, they know this, they tell me that I am physically tired because I don’t get enough sleep, and because I am in a lot of physical pain, true but its more than that the fact I sleep little is true but I am so worn out I see no purpose to go on, its just the waiting and I am tired of waiting.
I have spent my life caring about and for others, most of whom have let me down my entire life. I believe in the afterlife life, in Heaven – if I did not what would be the purpose of this life and all that has happened, all the pain all the misery.
How many more rows, how much shouting, how many more miserable times, how much more pointless days filled up with unnecessary jobs. How much more physical pain can one endure, how many more days and weeks and months filled with tears, how many more?
There is something better, I know there is.
Take care, Anna.