My Deep, Dark Secret
I can’t believe I am actually typing this out right now; it’s making it feel very real. Around a year ago, my older sister, who was the widowed mother of two boys aged eight and five, decided to get extremely wasted and wreck her car into a rock embankment outside of our town. She was life-flighted to the ICU, spent weeks in a coma, and awoke in a vegetative state.
In the past year, she has SLOWLY begun to see some progress. Because of this accident, I was forced to quit my job, leave my friends, and move across the country and back in with my parents to help take care of her and raise my nephews. I love them dearly, but I have never wanted to have kids, especially not forced upon me like this.
She has the mind of a child now, argues about silly things, can’t cook for herself, cries over everything, can’t read, has memory loss, is partially paralyzed on her right side, has aphasia, and a LIST of other problems with me as her caregiver. She tells me how happy she is to be alive after such a bad car accident. I want to scream that I wish she would have perished.
Her boys are a wreck after losing their dad recently and now having a messed up mom. My parents are spending all of their retirement savings for her treatments. I can see the years getting shaved off my dad and mom from the stress. I don’t treat her any differently, I still tell her stories and laugh with her and do my best, but I hate the way I feel when I look at her.
Did you even think about your boys when you got in your car? She is smiling and completely ignorant to the pain she has caused to my entire family. So I guess that’s it. That’s my confession. I have a deep dark hatred and resentment for someone I love. And I will never let her know.