There's no place like home

ALTHOUGH I SWEAR I'LL NEVER MOVE BACK, my childhood in Wisconsin still holds so many wonderful memories for me. I long for it at times, and I know that one winter of ice and snow would likely send me right back to the ocean-side city where I live today. I am heading there for a couple of days this week and I can't tell you how difficult it is to pack!

My family members say, "Bring a jacket." I've been walking around outside in a tank top and cropped pants today. We have our air conditioning on right now. Still, I look forward to the chilly nights and the earthy smells of fall that only a northern climate can claim.

I am going to stay with my sister, to whom I've grown closer each passing year. I think the fact that we lost our baby sis and mother has caused us to develop a stronger bond.

I need to get on the stick and start packing. I won't be gone long; I don't need to take much. I like to travel light, and I hope to bring back a treasure or two, so I'll leave a little room in my bag -- just in case.

~Tammy Jo (my Wisconsin namesake)

"Home is where they love you." I'm doubly blessed, I feel, and I will look forward to my return home to my husband and dog while I am away.

Remembering Anne Marie

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO TODAY, my baby sister died.

She was 34 years old. Her life, for the most part, was a battle. She fought the ugly fight of addiction, and succumbed to it's bodily ravages way too early in life. When her alcoholism rendered her unable to care for her two-year-old daughter, that child was taken from her and placed with her ex-husband, who was also an addict but a "functioning" one.

Back then, I didn't know what I know now, and we didn't have the resources in place that we utilize today. She and I were just a year and a half apart in age, and though I was also struggling in my own ways to heal, I was taking an "over-achiever" route. I was desperately trying to carve out a life free from the bondage of addiction and dysfunction.

To this day I suffer from survivor's guilt. Although I have had enough grief and other therapy to understand that it wasn't my fault and that I could not have saved her, I still entertain a short list of "what ifs" every now and then. What if I had "forced" her into treatment (I tried that many times); what if I had fought for her child (back in the late 80s, early 90s, child welfare was a lot different than it is now); what if I hadn't needed to save my own life back then?

On this day, the anniversary of the day when I witnessed hundreds of Monarch butterflies migrating from Indiana to the south for the winter -- the day my sister died, I will find a way to celebrate her life. She was funny, athletic, loving, smart, extraordinarily pretty, and a good mommy when she was sober.

~Ms. T. J.