The Definition Of Happiness And What It Means To Me
Happiness to me, is having a family.
I have a family. They just want nothing to do with me.
My sister kicked me out of her life three years ago and has spoken to me twice since, once when we found out our mother broke her hip and once when we found out she was diagnosed with dementia.
She had no problem tossing me aside like yesterday’s garbage. In the three years since she rid herself of me, she opened a private social work practice and for all I know, is married with kids.
I found out about her private practice from the lawyer who acts as one of the trustees of my mother’s estate, I believe, accidentally. I don’t think my sister wanted me knowing she opened her own private practice, but then again, after three years of silence, I don’t know what my sister’s logic is and I don’t particularly care. She’s not the one I miss most.
I miss my mother more. My sister and I are more than six years apart, me being the elder. We never had anything in common and as a result, were never close but she’s still my sister. I may not miss her as much as I miss my mother, but I miss having a family, especially around the holidays.
My mother now officially hasn’t spoken to me for a year, although for the first time in three years, she sent me a birthday card for my 47th birthday in July 2023, saying she loved and was proud of me.
This was after I’d sent her a copy of my book, the very first soapstone piece I had made as a “tween” (and her favorite) and a family-sized bag of “Hershey’s Kisses,” each one “being a kiss from me to her.”
On March 14, 2023, the 20th anniversary of my father’s death, I self-published my first chapbook of poetry, “Dysfunctional Me: A Collection Of Poems About Trauma, Grieving And Loss” with Amazon KDP.
It was a collection of 31 poems about the trauma I experienced, the grieving I did and the losses I suffered at the hands of my father, who was physically, mentally, emotionally and verbally abusive in his treatment of me.