2003-08-28 - 10:05 a.m.

Warning: It never stops. Sometimes it seems like it never stops.

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(Note: I wrote this LATE Tuesday Night, sleepless at my desk� just to get the words and thoughts out of my head, and my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ROCK told me I should post it here.

It wasn�t meant for public viewing, but I guess that�s where it�s ending up.

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FUNNY TO FOLLOW (sorry about that).

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Tuesday morning, which seemed like it was a typical Tuesday morning in every other way, my 31 year-old sister took 120 XANAX in an attempt to END HER LIFE.

She no longer had the strength to hold on� Her pain was too much. She couldn�t see how it would ever get better. She felt her children deserved a life without a mother who was sick in bed all the time. She felt her children would deal better with the fact that their mother had committed suicide?

Obviously she didn�t think this through.

Dead. If it had worked she�d be dead now. Wow, that�s so eerily similar to �If you lived here, you�d be home now�, and yet�so very different� and yet, quite frankly, not so different at all.

I can�t believe she almost did it.

I�m filled with sadness and anger, and maybe not in that order.

Fortunately, after taking the pills, she made a phone call, which led to 911 being called, which led to the paramedics, the emergency room, and now, charcoal and 72 hours of observation.

When I got the call from my father, I had to write the words down on a post it note because it didn�t make any sense to me, even though TRAUMA is NOT a SPECIAL ITEM in this family� it�s on the REGULAR MENU.

I am looking at the POST IT NOTE now, nearly 12 hours later, and the words are in a nervous writing that I don�t really recognize as my own, and the phrase is surrounded by quotation marks. �Tried to commit suicide�. Below that, I drew a line, followed by another phrase, although no quotation marks this time: Despondent over her health.

If it had worked, if the 120 Xanax had been allowed to enter her bloodstream, I think it might have done the trick. Ended her pain, but started a whole new path of pain for her 4 beautiful, fragile, troubled, outrageous children. They are strong and weak, at the same time. They are fearful and full of spunk. They are Overprotective and Combative. For most of their lives their mother has been ill. Several different things, but all of them causing her intense pain and robbing her of the ability to get �effective sleep�.

My sister was the 5th of 8 children born to a set of mis-matched, ill-equipped parents.

Their first born, a son, achieved his greatest accomplishment early on, just by being the first-born and a son. It was mostly downhill for him and them after that. I was the second born� and the first daughter. Somebody throw me a parade! After me, another son was born, but he only lived for 36 hours, was deemed way-too-good for this place, and went onto much greater work somewhere else in the universe. I think he got some sort of tip that this family was gonna be all about drama and trauma, and he realized that his efforts and energy should be saved for making clouds in the shape of elephants or creating rainbows or magical stuff like that. Needless to say, he�s got quite a legacy, that boy we only knew for 36 hours.

During those mis-matched, ill-equipped parents attempt at having another son, they had 3 girls instead, one after another, after another� and then, finally, a son. Lastly, instead of divorcing, they had one more son, the result of a �kiss and make-up� weekend gone all kookie, and yet he was the perfect end to the team. 4 boys and 4 girls.

Although, as previously stated, one of the boys will have to stay on the bench because he no longer has his uniform.

So yes, she was number 5 of 8, or, if you prefer, the third girl of four� she was the one whose stomach didn�t get the chance to digest 120 Xanax this morning in an attempt to end her life and join the older brother she never knew�. Who, believe me, when he greeted her at the gates to wherever it is they go� would have been pissed off at her.

120 Xanax. Who takes 120 of anything? I mean, I would think that, like 10 or 15 pills would do the trick, but apparently not� apparently not when your body is trained to absorb pain pills like spilt kool aid. Apparently not, when you apparently tried it the night before with 30 Xanax, and, sadly, awoke the next morning, just a little bit dizzy, but still deeply entrenched in the painful life you wanted out of.

As we drove down to the hospital I thought of my grandmother� and of her last days� as she struggled to take each breath. As we all, her grandchildren, stood by her bedside and tried desperately to help her take each breath� and wondered if THAT BREATH would be her last� as seconds stretched into several seconds and then dozens of seconds in between those labored breathes. I thought of how we stood around her bed and held each other�. And then I thought of my sister, lying in her bed last night� coming to terms with the fact that she didn�t want to live anymore� couldn�t go on�couldn�t bare it� and she was all alone. All alone making that decision�a pretty big decision if you ask me.

Usually, back in the day when she was healthier and alive and functioning, she loved to make quick decisions� it was her style. Many times, unfortunately, they proved to be, perhaps, not quite the right decision, but she always found a way back. If this one had stuck, I�m afraid there would not have been a way back. None that I know of, anyway.

Those children. Her children. Those almost-were-motherless children. My nieces and nephew. I can�t imagine how this would have affected them.

The oldest, a six-year old girl, would have been devastated. Outwardly, visibly devastated. She worries so much about her mother as it is� staying home from day camp this summer because she wanted to be with her mother. Sometimes staying in her pajamas all day and laying in bed with her mother. Other days complaining of some ache or pain, perhaps trying to have a parallel experience to her mothers. This breaks my heart in half.

Next are her twins, 5-year-old girls. One is quiet, sweet and tortured on the inside. She once told me that she�s lonely. A 5 year old expressing that she�s lonely� lonely and sad. Her twin, on the other hand, is angry and combative and wears her emotions all over her self. She is the bubbling foam coming out of the test tube that is the result of all the ingredients that were mixed and unattended.

Last is a 4-year-old Boy. We never thought the marriage would last long enough for a 4th child, but when you have 4 children in 4 years� I guess that�s one way of accomplishing it.

He�s already a son without a �father�, as his father is a total waste of space.

In an ideal world, I could set up a website, at, say�www.deadbeatloserdad.com and their father�s picture would be there. You�d be able to read there about his temper and his cheating and his rage and his lack of ambition and his general piece-of-shit attitude. You could click on a link to read about other children he�s had, whose mothers he never married. Click on another link to see how he fooled my sister into thinking he was a sweet guy who wanted to be married and have a family and live happily ever after. Choose from several QuickTime movies of him: cheating on her, being physically and verbally abusive, being out-of-work-always, threatening her life�.and most of all now- being an absent/dead-beat dad.

Back to the sweet little 4-year-old Boy. The youngest. The one who has only known his Mommy to be sick and in bed. The one who doesn�t really talk yet. His smile melts your heart.

Almost. Almost-motherless. Already fatherless.

She almost did it.

120 Xanax.

I�m so angry.

I�m so sad.

I�m so scared.

I�m so tired.

Please keep my sister in your thoughts.