Paper Cranes: And the Multitude of Folds

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When you make any kind of origami you have to start by folding the paper in half, finding the center defining fold before moving to the next step. I don't tell this story often. Well, I do, but not in the ways that count. I wouldn't call myself a mother, not in the traditional way that is.

At least not in the way that we learn about in biology class in middle school. Definitely not physically, pushing a small child out of me at the tender age of fifteen. I would say mentally and physically in the sense that I took care of my sisters for the greater part of high school.

At ten years old my sister, Sarah, began a process that would last the greater part of five years and steal most of my development years. I never got to rebel, kiss a boy for the first time, or "live life on the edge" in high school.

As soon as the first doctor visit ended I had a sinking feeling that nothing would ever be the same again for my family. I didn't realize what it would do to me and the relationship I had with my sisters at the time, but now, after rebuilding my relationships with my parents, I have realized how much strain and stress damaged those relationships.

I remember calling my best friend, Max, after the first doctor's visit. Filling him in on everything that was happening. He was silent. Listening. I cried on the other line, silent so he wouldn't know I was crying. He knew.

I don't like to think about the past with the moments in the waiting room, my grandmother shaking as the doctor talked to her, mom crying in "private" and dad's strength, coming out in his anger. I blocked out all of my emotion; apathy the only way to describe my demeanor in that last year. What is emotion? I have only recently begun to feel again, letting myself cry after years of being physically unable to do so.

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Ten bottles. That's how many bottles of pills are on her nightstand. Remember, she takes five in the morning, two in the middle of the day, and then three before bed. It's your job. You are the older sibling, the one with all of the responsibility because mom has other things on her mind. After the last surgery, the Medical bills are too much; mom and dad feel like the insurance company is telling us, "nope it's your problem now." This is not your fault.

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People are paper. Intricately weaved, pressed, tough and yet easily torn and marked. An illness marks a person, can leave them and the people around them torn and bruised. I can't even count the times I have been yelled at by my sister, telling me how much she hates me.

"Jerk."

"I hate you."

"Stop telling me what to do and just leave already!"

I have wanted to give up. Daily I struggled with leaving, letting Sarah figure it out on her own, letting her push me away. I had to force myself to like her some days, but it was the fact that my love for her never wavered that I was really able to stay and force myself to be there for her through each and every procedure.

Crohn's Disease can affect the family and the patient. It turns love into something different, creating a new and distinct form of love that is forced.

I tend to let my naivety, the fact that love and life are anomalies, be an excuse for putting myself in bad situations, bad mental states. I let myself get torn, smaller and smaller...Will I eventually disappear altogether? I tell myself it's good for me, that it will only make me stronger...It will but it takes longer than I thought.