On the search for a permanent comfort. A sturdy lighthouse, an indestructible beacon. I have a raft, made from things I once thought to throw out, but have since come to my senses. It is possible to recognize only what I am familiar with. Any flaw or virtue I can name, I am able to find within myself.
There is a fine mess of things. Yet, what has been broken is well accounted for. The pieces are all sitting in a pile, numbered carefully.
Juliet has been living with a friend. I know little about the activities that fill her days, but it is safe to assume the worst. She stopped visiting the children some time ago, after she filled a bag with food from my cupboard, and I wrestled it out of her hands. She cried that she had not eaten in days, and that it wasn’t much which was being taken. I cannot reflect on that moment without feeling like a monster.
Until today, it had been easy to avoid her entirely. However, Angelina has been struggling with asthma. She is no longer responding to the medication that was prescribed. As I prepared to schedule an appointment with her doctor, I noticed that her medical card was missing. I had no choice but to call Juliet to inquire after it. She confirmed that it was in her possession, then asked that we meet outside of a specific grocery store, where she would hand me the card. I arrived at the chosen location, but found myself waiting in vain. With some effort, I tracked her down. What I saw, left me speechless. In just a few short weeks, sister had hit rock bottom. She struggled to form cohesive sentences. I could make out nothing but a childlike plea for help. Her tears drowned out soft whispers. I wanted to be moved, but lost patience with her long ago. Nothing recognizable remained, in both character and physical appearance. She is a bag of bones, with rotting teeth, and a weathered face. I promised to find a rehabilitation facility that would accept her. It would not be the first time. Only months ago, I drove her to a hospital to get clean. She was asked to leave on the second day, after an altercation with a security guard.
Juliet has requested that I find a transitional living home for her in Portland, Oregon. It is near enough to a maternal aunt for her to feel safe. She wants to skip over the detoxification process, and while I would normally advise against this, my desire is to be free from her. I would send her to the moon, if I could.