My heart is broken today, but my conscience and soul are sound. I will post this and then spend the rest of the day in silence and solitude, talking only to and with Maria.
I have to do something I never thought I could do.
I must let go of the last member of my biological family I communicate with. She is gone from me, a form of death as final as the real thing.
The wheel turns and turns. Maria and I often laugh at all those books and movies that preach that family is the only place always to take you in when you need help. Bless the people for whom that is true, and bless the many for whom that is not true and the most important things in our lives. Like almost everything, there is no rule or ending to how families function, or don’t.
I’ve tried to help my sister and get help for her all my life, and my whole life, I’ve failed. She is the primary reason I spent so much time in therapy. I went everywhere I could think of to try to get her help, but nobody listened – I was just a weird kid.
Sorry, sis, I have a big ego, but life is often much bigger than me.
Jane, two years older than I am, suffered from mental illness all her life, as have I. But the illness set us on very different paths. I was always looking for help, but she never did. I learned that help helps.
Jane broke down often and cruelly and painfully.
She could never figure out how to live in the world, and the world returned the favor.
She is estranged from her two children and hasn’t spoken to them in decades.
The only member of our family who has been in touch with her is me, and I had to break off real-time talk with her just a couple of months ago; it was tearing us apart and doing neither of us any good. We were extremely close when we were young; we are each the only witnesses to the awful childhoods we endured. But she didn’t really want to talk to me at all. She just wanted to complain about her shrinking life.
Neither of us wants to talk to my brother, and he has little interest in speaking with us. At some point, I’ll text him about Jane. He never wanted to get too close to her. I couldn’t step away. I’ve always been guilty about my sister, trying to find ways to help her. I always felt I should have done more.
I never could do much except buy things she needed, like a refrigerator. Jane asked for nothing but accepted everything.
Jane never quite figured out living in the world, from having relationships that lasted to paying taxes or mortgage payments. She was always alone. She would let me buy things for her, but she wasn’t interested in my ideas about her getting real help. I pleaded with her to her children and let them know where she was, but she insisted they were better off not knowing anything about her.
Shortly after I moved upstate, she followed me and, it seemed, modeled me. She bought a house in the country with donkeys, sheep, and a dozen huge dogs. She ended up getting rid of all the animals but the dogs. I helped her talk to the IRS about her failure to file income her income taxes; we found an accountant to talk to the IRS and worked out a payment plan.
Her house was far away in the other part of New York State, which is vast. She came to see me once – to attend my wedding to Maria and only stayed until the end of the ceremony. She never came back. Maria and I once visited her in her deteriorating home and couldn’t return. Somehow, we always managed to be in touch with one another.
She often bred dogs and sold them or gave them away and made some friends that way. She could never really follow the rules, not the dog people or anyone else.
They were mostly huge Newfoundlands; her house was built to accommodate them, and five or six slept in bed with her. She couldn’t keep up with the care the place needed, only for the dogs. She has only two left, and I am helping to look for homes for them.
Jane made friends with a beautiful and loving couple that lived almost on the border with Canada. They got a dog from her, and the friendship blossomed. When they saw that Jane would soon face eviction from her home, they built a beautiful and comfortable room for her in a trailer near their home. They moved her things up, paid close attention to her, and cared for her.
Her friends were worried about her. They decided to try to help. They invited her to come and live with them; they would help her move and build a warm and comfortable space for her. She accepted. They did everything they promised and more.
Her friends gave her several of her life’s best and most peaceful years.
She was off the grid, ignored hospital bills and all other obligations, and spent all day going to the gym to work out and reading used non-fiction books she brought online.
Jane was a brilliant student when she went to class; she was waitlisted for admission to a prestigious medical school but decided not to go. When we were young, our rooms were across the hall; we talked to each other all night while listening to my parents rage and scream at each other. We often ran away together, usually to my grandmother’s house.
My grandmother would take us in, feed us, and call my mother to come and get us.
As we grew up and Jane declined – drugs, depression, and other addictions – we grew further apart. Her kids were found hungry in the street; I took one, and my parents took another. She got them back, and they both eventually moved away from her. Emma was just a few weeks old, and my former wife and I couldn’t handle it.
When I had my breakdown, Jane was there for me; we talked every night for months until I got stronger and did my own healing. She knew exactly what it felt like.
Jane could never find a way to heal herself or get help she respected or trusted.
I should say we both suffered severe and chronic abuse; that was our connection, and while I could work my way through mine, thanks in great measure to Maria and an excellent therapist, Jane would never really let anyone help her or get close enough to know her.
I was the only one who came close but not close enough to help. I learned later that some people are just too troubled to heal.
I couldn’t accept that Jane was one of those people until recently. I can’t help her or even the close friends she was fortunate to make.
I should say I know none of this was her fault; people often blame the mentally ill for being ill. And it was often easy enough to be angry with her.
But she couldn’t help it.
I know what she suffered, and it just rips me apart to know there is no real help for her, not then, not now.
We know abuse is chronic and can mess up a kid in awful ways. Jane was a victim, something the people around her, including my family, never accepted. I was the only witness, and it bound us both ways.
To my father, mental illness, like my bedwetting, was a character flaw. If you don’t get over it, then you’re lazy or weak. I never forgave him for how he treated Jane; we never got along after that, even though she eventually told me he did the best he could.
From the beginning, I knew this new arrangement couldn’t last; Jane’s story is one of rescue, drama, dysfunction, and sorry endings. She broke down recently after months of refusing to eat regularly or properly. She abandoned the gym and could barely walk.
Her friends found all suffering from anxiety and depression medications strewn over the floor. She was neglecting her dogs, something she had never gone to. And then began talking about suicide.
I’ve known for decades that one day, I would get the call that Jane was falling apart and had nowhere to live. It was only recently that I was made to understand I couldn’t help her in that way or in any other.
Her friends where she is living called an ambulance and told them she couldn’t return because they could not care for her in this condition or at all.
It was inevitable; I knew instantly what was happening.
My sister was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital mental health unit and said she didn’t want anyone to be contacted, including me. I expect she will call me when she is back on the medications to keep her stable. But this has never been worse, and she also has some severe medical issues.
I used to speak with her by phone every week until a few months ago, but I switched to text messaging. The phone calls were not healthy or helpful and dangerous for me; she kept bringing up things I’d spent many years letting go of. She rambled and raged.
And now, it is time for me to let go of her.
Jane’s latest move brought me back into therapy, and my therapist prepared me for what just happened.
Whatever situation she is in, she said, she will destroy it; whoever loves her will be rejected and hurt. She said I can’t talk with her anymore; you must let her go. There is nothing I can do for her; she needs to be treated by professional social workers who will see that she eats, stays clean, and is on medications that stabilize her and that she takes.
The state will step in.
That’s the best thing that could happen, and it is just what is happening.
Jane is not coherent right now or rational. She is refusing all help and treatment. That’s not something for me to deal with.
Jane and I could never live in the same household, not right now. And it would almost certainly disrupt, even ruin, our lives. I don’t have the will to do it, money, or mental health.
So, I’m letting her go; the State of New York is already getting involved, and I know from my Mansion work that they will step in and find a place for her to live.
This breaks my heart, but I am secure about what I feel, can, and can’t do.
I can’t see my sister, and I can’t help my sister. I need to walk away.
Today, I’m taking the day off from writing and blogging; I will reflect on my sister’s life and say goodbye. We have a sacred connection as the only living witnesses to what we went through together.
That is the Jane I care to remember.
She is gone now and lives in a different world. I wish her every love and compassion.
And for all of the people who cannot always go back to family when they get into trouble, hang in there.
Life is not about marketing movies.
You are not alone.
I am 55 & so many similarities in your family truth & my family & horrible things me & my sister endured in a dysfunctional family!! I would like to discuss a couple ideas I have had about writing down memories & events that transpired in my life of 55 years & I promise you a story that would blow your mind & wonder how I made it through despite the difficulties of abuse & abandonment! People have told me I should write a book & might help me let go of the past but I am worried it will only make me more angry & not let it go, so I can try live what’s rest of life in a bit more peace with self & less stressed. Your writing this is so touching & I feel your true heartfelt love you had for your sister!! Take care! -Troy R.Knight
Sometimes letting go is the only option
I know this from personal experience. I too had to let go of a sibling. It was not as dramatic or painful as you and Jane but I had to do it. I too realized there was no more I could do for him. I am sorry this has happened to you. This sort of thing is never easy but necessary for your own survival.
I pray for your peace.
Amen.
John-my prayers and thoughts to you…and your sister. My wife’s family has a history of mental conditions and I know she went through many painful years. Now my 90 year old mother is showing signs of dementia and not wanting to allow anyone to help deal with that. Mental health issues are cruel and very scary. Stay strong and take care of yourself and your wife. Best….
I have a sister who died in February of this year. We were close most of our lives, but she moved out to Oregon and our communication became less. She was seriously mentally ill…bipolar disorder most of her life..I tried to help her but couldn’t. No on really could. She was in and out of the hospital so many times. But she didn’t deserve to die like she did. She just collapsed heading to a concert, and her heart stopped. I’m still grieving. I wish I had done more. She had such a loving, kind, generous side. I think it was all the going on and off medications. It took it’s toll…I miss her even though I had distanced myself somewhat…couldn’t take the weird psychotic episodes and anger and yelling sometimes..so I hope her soul is at rest now…….
I’m so sorry. My heart goes out to you. Stay strong for you and Maria and your beautiful farm. You are a good man John.
This is heart breaking! Mental illness is typically overlooked and not easily helped. There is no clearly written manual on what we should do. May there be peace for all involved.
I’m glad you’re strong enough to do the right thing and confident to know that you’re right.
I am so sorry… i can’t imagine how difficult this must be.
a profoundly sad post Jon, but beautifully expressed…. and I hope it may have helped your heart just a small bit writing it. Letting go is almost always difficult, but especially when it involves family…. you are a wise man…and a compassionate one.
Susan M
Looking back on my life, there were a number of people who had the strength and courage to step away. They made the difficult decision to no longer enable me. Those are the people I give thanks for every single day. Without them I may never have faced my demons. It is still and always one day at a time. Many of those people I never saw or spoke with again. That saddens me, yet I understand their choices.
May you continue to heal, physically, spiritually, emotionally, knowing that you have always done the best you can.
Jon, your courage and example inspire me and give me hope.
This is heartbreaking for you. The best thing you can do is live out your own life in the wonderful, loving place you have found and work so hard for. Letting go of someone who is still living is so much harder. I am so sorry Jon. I’ll keep you in my thoughts.
Dear Jon,
Shalom!
What a heartbreaking story. There are many Janes out there, talented, intelligent people who could have led creative lives, but suffered irreparable damage from a brutish parent. You tried, you love her and she is blessed to have you. At some point we have to walk away and choose our own happiness – this takes courage. You made your choice to seek help and healing – Jane chose otherwise. It is so painful to watch a loved one in pain and feel helpless. I understand and send you love.
Your story was heartbreaking. He stated everything so well and you need to protect yourself. It is very sad about your sister and hopefully she can have a reasonable life with what proper care – if it is available. Family is not always family as we know it, it can be friends and acquaintances as well as blood. Peace be with you.
Wishing you peace and comfort Jon.
Dear John,
Sometimes we cannot fix those we love. You are doing what is right for you and Maria. I know cutting ties with someone who is family is hard. It is like a death and I am sorry that you are going through this.
I’m so sorry you are going through this. Mental illness affects so many families in ways that are not understood. I hope that both of you can find peace. Sending hugs.
Take a step back and look forward. There is so little if anything one can do against the mental illness of someone else. Take care of yourself. Let go. Live in peace.
This must be the hardest thing to do. You must take care of yourself and your wife. I hope your sister finds some help. Sounds like you have done what you could. I just found your blog in the last few months, I love it! Takes my mind off of my problems, which are nothing compared to yours! Please take care so we can read more stories of you, your farm, your wife and those adorable animals!
Thank you for sharing. I too have had to let siblings go, two of them to be exact. As well as my mother to dementia. Grieving for the living that are now lost is so hard. Thank you again. I hope you find peace.
Jon, My “Jane” is my sister Sherry. About 2 years ago I, too, had to let go and go silent. It still hurts, but I now have peace in my late years (she’s 83, I’m 79). It was the only way, and resisting it was futile. I tried …. and tried. They say “crazy” is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. I finally am not crazy. She is estranged from her own offspring. Sad, but I can’t fix it. God bless…. -Pam
Wow Jon! Just when I think I kind of know you I see how wrong I am. I guess your whole family has had a lot to do with making you the man you are today. All that being said I have enormous respect for you. The life you’ve created & have gotten so lucky finding Maria. I think most of your readers would love to be you.
I’m a dedicated reader & find so much interest in all that you both do. We’ve all had our ups & downs with family members, friends, jobs, wives, you name it, but all that makes us who we are. The big difference here is your ability & willingness to share yours with the world. Me and so many others really appreciate it. You seem very happy & I’m very happy for you. Keep on sharing because we love to hear about it. I truly wish you & Maria the very best.
I had a brother who suffered mental illness all his life, even though we had a pretty stable family life. Everyone tried to help him, all through his 70 years, but he refused treatment. Everything was everyone else’s fault, never his. I eventually had to cut off all ties. He passed away a few years ago and I hope he has found the peace he never found in life.
Thank you for this Jon.
I have been following you for many, many years. I have read all your books. I was so happy for you when you found Maria. This has hit home for me. My brother, sister and I didn’t have the best upbringing but I don’t think it was as bad as yours. We are all in our 70s. We all have our issues. Seven or eight years ago I gave up on my sister. My brother and I don’t see, or speak, to each other and I’m not quite sure why. But it is what it is. Like you, I realized I had to protect myself. My mind and my heart. And yes, it is heartbreaking. I’m glad you have Maria. I’m alone but I keep busy with wildlife and bird rescue. I’m happy with my life.
I know you love your life and are happy.
Peace to you.
In a life that sounds hard and harsh, she was fortunate to have you. May you find peace.
I grieve for you and your Sister. The world is cruel and sometimes there just is no healing that which is broken. Sending you wishes for love and peace.
Letting go is not easy, but for someone who is older and facing health concerns there’s little option. Once I wrote you that if you take one stick it’s easy to break. However, if you bundle several sticks together the bundle is almost impossible to break. This saying refers to family members. I heard something like that stated in a movie and it has always stayed with me. But it’s also true that many of us don’t have families to run to, and many of us have family members who have mental problems. This was hard blog for me to read, and I’m sure hard to write.
Jon
Sorry you and your sis are hit so hard. Pain. Glad you shared. It’s a big world, bigger than us and we can’t just fix it all – like you said. Maybe the World will work its way around to “fixing” this and that… But for us, sometimes it’s honestly too much and actually dangerous and not right to mess up _our life – the one we’re truly responsible for.
No answers, no good words. Just best effort, hopefully humility. Bearing reality and continuing on with this big world.
Please take care of yourself, don’t beat yourself up, etc. The usual. Sounds like your worked hard, you kept coming back, did your best over and over. Cared and acted, repeatedly. I’d bet a lot your Sister’s path was and is way better than without your love and energy. I’d bet a whole lot.
Thoughts and prayers go with you.
The phrase that Kim used, “Grieving for the living that are lost..” that sums it up. I find it weirdly comforting that there is an army of us – the collaterally-damaged-from-mental-illness family members. Especially when, prior to having good mental therapy myself, I thought myself totally alone in my suffering. At times, I’ve been so ashamed that I’ve had to distance myself from my mentally ill family, but I had to remove myself from their toxicity or lose my own mental health. I was sad and angry that I couldn’t really do anything to help them and they for sure weren’t asking for my kind of help – which was(is) always, seek counseling, though not everyone can do the work of healing. Acceptance of this fact is damned hard, as you said, since the movies, our own families, church, school and other institutions tell us “family is everything.” Nope, sorry, it oftentimes is not. I feel for you Jon; Jane’s life seems to be an endless vale of tears. You’ve done your best to help her. I used to have a great deal of survivor guilt – why did I get to recover? I’ve been taught that the “why” questions are useless and point to external “reasons” and help no one. The question is, what do I need to do, to support and grow my own mental health? It’s my internal work that actually helps others. Sending good thoughts your way, and to Jane.
I’m 72 years old and only this year did I come to terms with having to completely cut off relations with one sister and her family. I tried for decades to go along with her but no more. It is the only way to save myself and have any peace. It is the same as a death but easier to contend with than continuing in a hopeless and destructive cycle of narcissistic abuse. My family of origin is not healthy and I’ve realized that we are all damaged. I don’t have the kind of family that’s described on Hallmark cards. I have stopped trying to think that I do.