Warrior at the Ready

Yesterday, while I was in the middle of a yoga class, my muscles warmed, my mind clear, my sister popped into my head. I haven't seen or spoken to my sister in more than 2 years. Last I saw her was in a hotel room at an Embassy Suites in Colorado where my family had lured her for a drug intervention. She's a crystal meth addict, and was high that day. Despite our tearful, pleading letters, despite our interventionist's efforts to reel her in over 4 long hours, despite the bed we'd paid for at a rehab in California (we had new sheets in the suitcase! With pink flamingoes on them!), the intervention failed. My sister fled the room and we were forced to deliver the "kiss-off" letter. Just your standard "you are dead to me until you're ready for help" letter.

Two years later, she's still not ready. So I've put her out of my life and, mostly, my thoughts. Which is why her interrupting my downward-facing dog was remarkable. For the first time in a long time I had a clear conviction that I would see her again. Alive. I just felt it.

Then my mother sent me an email saying that she had a meltdown yesterday over my sister, that she cried all day. Now my mother and I don't talk about my sister much anymore. It's easier that way. So it seemed a strange coincidence that she came to us on the same day, disrupting our careful indifference. I told my mother that maybe she's thinking of us, that our "feelers" are being activated for some reason. Still, there's nothing we can do. If she calls, we've been instructed to repeat the script: I won't talk to you unless you're calling for help.

I'm hoping that my sister doesn't call my mother. She'll crumble for sure. She won't be able to follow the script. Better if she calls me; I've prepared. I've done some warrior poses with this very situation in mind. I still haven't the slightest idea if I'll say the right words. But in the meantime, I've got strong thighs and the hope that they'll get me where I need to go.