TANYA

Photo: Tanya my childhood best friend
my niece
my almost-sister
the kid I whooped many people over
& would whoop a million more 
my "Friday Night Girl"

THEN (mostly):                                       


    One of the best things that happened in my life was when my much beloved sister gave birth to a girl child and named her Tanya. As soon as I recovered from the disappointment of being an aunt instead of an uncle (which I thought could have happened if only that baby had been born a boy!) I tried to make the best of things and get to know the new person. She didn't do much, but lie around all the time. She didn't have much to say, and when she said it she said it loudly and it was completely incomprehensible. But it felt good to hold her in my seven year old arms. She was warm, and soft, and better than any doll or teddy I'd ever held. It also felt good inside my heart when she rested contentedly against me, as though I were a grown up and worthy of being responsible for something, some ONE very precious. I was far from grown up, however, and there were times over the years when I'm sure I let my sweet niece down. I didn't quite know what to do for her, especially when she was still tiny and seemed to cry for no reason at all. After she grew up some and began to talk I was able to do a better job of being her aunt, better but never great. What a cross to bear, being my plaything, but most of the time she bore it with a grace-filled spirit and a deep and tolerant love for me.

    As she got older we grew closer, and I came to love her accepting heart with every fiber of my being. She was often my brightest ray of sunshine. I've never been loved any more beautifully than she loved me, trusted any more fully, or heeded any quicker. She would have walked through fire for me, immediately and without question, and I returned that trust with a fierce protectiveness. I would have walked through fire for her as well, but the only fire I faced for her were a few unfortunate boys that thought it might prove entertaining to pull Tanya's long hair, or shoot at her with their b.b. guns. They were wrong, and I saw to it that they found out just how wrong they were! I was in so many fights with boys that I lost count, and most of them were over Tanya. It fired me up quicker than the Fourth of July for anyone to be mean to her!

    It was a rare Friday evening that didn't find her trudging up a mountain or a stairway with thirty-two steps to be with me, and me smiling, dashing out to meet her with news, and ideas, and excitement. We were together nearly every day that school was not in session and sometimes in the evenings after school. Closer than most sisters, thicker than the thievingest thieves, like peanut butter and jelly, we stuck together. I didn't make friends that would not allow her to tag along on all our adventures. I didn't waste time with boys that thought she was in the way. And if someone failed to realize that I was cooler than sliced bread they were quickly met with Tanya's complete disdain. We rarely disagreed, never argued, and either of us would have taken a beating before striking or hurting the other.

Photo: "The Trio"

    They say the best and worst things in life come in threes, and our cousin Ramona seemed to prove that theory out. She completed our trio. She fit snuggly between my age and Tanya's and perfectly into all our activities. Thanks to Tanya and Ramona I was blessed with many days that were not lonely. Once in a while, my wonderfully funny and rambunctious nephew, Johnny was along for the ride, but more often than not he was spending time with his daddy. Some days, it was just Tanya and me, occasionally just Ramona and me, but most of the time, it was the three of us against the world and all things that were not tied down. Together we proved that females could do anything they wanted. Of course, if something was boring or overly difficult, we simply didn't want to do it! We learned how to be as adventurous as only boys were (usually) encouraged to be, and as affectionate as any parent hopes their daughter might become. We climbed trees and did make-up. We played house; I was always the dad because I was the bossiest. We played cowboys and Indians but soon just played different tribes of Indians because no one wanted to be a cowboy when you could be a perfectly good wild Indian! Sometimes we specifically pretended we were Pocahontas, John Smith, and John Rolfe. Ramona, as our girly girl, was almost always Pocahontas. Sometimes we imagined we were Tom Sawyer, Huck Fin, and Jim, floating down the Mississippi. The couch or a big rock in the woods worked well as our imaginary raft. We dreamed up adventures against goblins that lived in the heating vents or crawled around under the ground, and we survived fake world wide apocalypses and battled the resulting zombies before we'd ever seen a zombie movie or even heard that term. We called them some name that I no longer remember, but was sure then that it was sufficiently foreign and formidable sounding. We rode bikes and jumped rope.  We played with b.b. guns and taught each other patty-cake games. We sang along with the radio and played the same records over and over until my sister Sandi begged for mercy. With our parents complete knowledge, and obvious humor, we smoked pipes and hand rolled cigarettes filled with "rabbit tobacco". We leg wrestled, and thumb wrestled with each other. We wrestled neighborhood boys with all our body and might. While living up on the mountain, if we were out playing in the middle of the day and decided we were hungry, we ate wild strawberries, birch bark, teaberry leaves, pawpaws, and ground cherries. We drank from the spring. We gave our jaws a work out on frozen snack cakes that my parents bought at the discount bread store and stuck in the freezer before mold could set in. We rode in the back of a pick up truck as long as the weather would allow. In the day we'd stand up and our long hair would twist in the wind until it had formed into knots that we'd have to help each other brush out. The worst ones Sandi would have to fight out of our hair before bed. We even rode in the back of the truck at night. Sometimes standing up, but usually we would spread out a blanket to lie on, then we would lie down and cover up with another blanket or a thick quilt. We'd watch the tree branches whiz by, and the stars travel along with us. The whole world was with us. I sometimes asked them to imagine what it would be like to slip up through the sky, through the atmosphere, past the moon and Mars, and travel among the brilliant stars. In those moments, and many others, I often told them stories, long imaginative tales that sometimes frightened and always entertained and delighted them. I did not know those stories had made an impact until Tanya, many years later, wrote about them for a school assignment. She sent me the paper after she received a good grade on it. How fierce and free we were! We lived childhood wild and wonderful! I sometimes imagine that Heaven is filled with eternal children in an everlasting summer. If that is true then we will fit right in. If it is true, then Tanya, Ramona, and I will be girls again together someday, and the stars and the whole universe will be with us.


For a while, as adults, we remained close. Tanya had two sons, Ramona had one daughter, and I had two sons. We all became so busy that we weren't physically together very often. Still, I really believed that, at any time, one of us could call the others and the other two would drop everything to be there for the one that was in need.

Ramona and I are still very close. We call, and text, and keep connected on "the world wide web" (as we old timers say.) I'm pretty sure she would be there for me if she ever got one of those "I need you" calls, and I know I'd drop everything to go to her if she reached out. For reasons I don't and may never understand, Tanya has cut me completely out of her life. As best I can wrap my brain around the events, she felt that the family was not supportive enough of her marriage. I think she believes we (rather collectively) do not like or even love her husband. Nothing could be further from the truth. I miss him nearly as much as I do Tanya and their wonderful boys, my great-nephews. Most of us have not seen or heard from her or her family in over four years. She is in contact with her brother and his family but not her mother, Sandi, Tanya's sisters, and not me. For years she didn't even see my parents but she now goes occasionally for a brief visit. If her sisters run into her in public, she hurries away, pulling their nephew or nephews along with her. I have not chanced across her, but I've written, I've called, I've contacted through social networks, only to be rejected or ignored. After years of my questioning why she would not reply to me? What did I do? What could I do to fix things? I was simply told, "Your words once meant something to me, but now you are no more than a stranger to me and to my sons." I cried for days. I have begged her to tell me why. Mutual friends tell me that she puts memes on her social network sites, from which I have been blocked, about forgiveness, and Jesus, and not judging others because you never know what battles they are fighting. I can't help wishing she would forgive me whatever she is angry at me for, that she would not judge me, that she would love me like I love her.

Photo: Tanya and Skitch

Often I think the worse part is that she won't tell me what I did to deserve her disdain, or perhaps even hatred. I have this optimistic spirit that screams if I only knew what she was angry about I could explain it, I could fix it. I can't imagine what I did. I was not even living close when the rift began. But perhaps that is it: I left my hometown when I was 18 and Tanya eleven, not long before that I had married a military man. Tanya begged me not to go. It was the first time I had ever refused her something she wanted so much that it left her in tears. Tanya was tough, and so infrequently cried that her tears would rock you. I thought my future was with that man I'd married, and I tried to explain that to her. I felt so confident that time and distance could never steal from Tanya and me what we had in our hearts, that we would always be closer than most sisters, that we would always be family. When she saw that I was determined to leave, she begged me to take her with me. I knew her mother would not allow it, and I could not imagine coming between Tanya and my sister. Again, I turned her down. I tried to gently tell her that her place, for now, was with her mommy. Thinking back, I understand that night paved the way for Tanya to, many years later, turn her back on me. Perhaps I am getting no more than I deserve, but I cannot help pointing out that I never refused to speak with her, to be her family, to love her. To this day I would give my life for this woman that will not, as the old saying goes, "piss on me if I was on fire". I did try to explain to her that I wanted more than anything to take her with me, but I could not ask that of her mom, and her mother would never allow it anyway. Later when I was communicating with her unexpected cold shoulder, I told her that, by following my own dreams of marriage and children, I now had my sons that she and I both adore. (She does still talk to my sons if she sees them. They called her "Sissy" all through their childhood.) I pointed out that she has her sons that we both adore. I don't think reason and logic have ever erased the pain of being abandoned by me when she was so young. If I had it do over, what would I do differently? What could I do differently? I don't know. I can't imagine that I would avoid marriage with my first husband. I need those very sons that I now have. They have repeatedly saved my spirit and probably my literal life by waking me up to what I should be doing. I know Lila would not have allowed Tanya to go with me, but perhaps there could have been more visits going both directions. I feel certain that, if Lila and I both knew then what we know now, we'd work it out for the better. At the time, I felt it was enough that I took her with me in my heart. Apparently, it was only enough for me. I admit, I don't know what I would do differently, but I know I would do something differently. I must have my sons, but I also need and love that dear niece of mine, and my heart is heavy knowing that I ever hurt her.

For the longest time, the depression over the loss of her (and others I love who also largely do not talk to me) nearly buried me. And then I realized that no one can ever take my memories from me. No one can take that little girl niece, that teenage niece, that young adult niece. I've learned to hold to those memories fiercely, and finally realized that I don't know what the future holds. Perhaps her heart will soften again. Perhaps one day she will truly love me as I once thought she did. I remind myself, it is only today that I must be strong. And for now, the memories are still mine and they are enough. I cherish those laughing eyes, the radiant brown curls, the feel of her little hand in mine, the sound of her voice asking as many questions as there are stars in the sky, the absurd sense of humor she grew into, the heart that was then so gentle, the spirit that was always bold. Nothing on this Earth can take that from me and nothing in Heaven ever would.

  

Written by Tanya