How We Got Barb Back by Margaret Hawkins

Author:Margaret Hawkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781609252861
Publisher: Red Wheel Weiser

Chapter Twenty-two

March 19, 1998

I called my father tonight. He told me that Barb had worn a new white sweater and said that when he asked her where she'd gotten it she'd said I gave it to her. I don't remember, but as I told him, I have given her so many sweaters over the years, it may be one I gave her long ago. He was pleased she'd saved it and worn it though he disapproves of my giving her so many clothes. She has too many, he says.

I ventured to suggest that I think it's okay she hoards clothes because it's nice to have something new when you feel like wearing something special. He said he thought her “acquisitiveness” was a symptom of her “ailment.” He remembered when she was in Iraq and wrote to him (he said him, not us) and asked that he send her quantities of luxuries … 24 bottles of Prell shampoo, 14 bottles of Chanel No. 5, and 18 bottles of Charlie perfume. I knew it was true because he never could have come up with Charlie perfume on his own. He said he'd sent a few of each but made a point that he had not filled the excessive order. He has told this story many times. He is always outraged by the acquisitiveness of it.

I said I thought she'd shown signs of hoarding before. I was thinking of her drawers full of mohair sweaters, her ironed hair ribbons and later, after she got sick, her stashes of Scotch tape, toilet paper, note pads.

He sounded disappointed when he said, “I thought she was always kind of spartan—like me.” I said I didn't think so but didn't elaborate. I didn't want to hurt his feelings or start a fight. But then he changed the subject. I've noticed he does this often these days. He doesn't want to discuss my sister or any family problems for long. He clings to safe positions and corny attitudes, gets mad if anyone tries to budge him, like his sudden fury when I told the social workers who came to try to talk my mother into going to the hospital that she'd suffered from depression. He blew up, lashed out at me like I'd told some outrageous lie. It was awful to be attacked for telling the truth.

The trouble with mental illness is that you start to look at every flaw and quirk in the family of the sick person and wonder if that's what made them sick. It isn't fair, especially with this disease. Lots of families keep secrets and never have to contend with this. It is important to keep all this separate but very difficult to do so.

…♦…

March 22, 1998

[My friend] Deb was here for the weekend. We sat up until two a.m. talking after dinner. I told her about Margaret Moorman's book and her saying that it's common for siblings of mentally ill people to put their lives on hold, that they can't begin anything because they have to anticipate what may happen with the sibling.

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