I love, love, love my sister Lisa.
(For any new reader friends, Lisa is my beloved older sister who is developmentally disabled.)
Functionally, Lisa has a few physical disabilities, too, but they don’t slow her down much. She’s hilarious and quirky, with a savant memory for vintage TV trivia and music. If not for loving Lisa and doing what I could to protect her, I’m not sure I would’ve survived living with our mom, Sue. I certainly wouldn’t have had the stamina to write a book with that title, “Surviving Sue”.
Lisa’s memories of our childhood are often painful glimpses of the past, but she can navigate toward sunny moments if I steer her in the right direction. Easter will always be one of those sunnier times as she reminisces about our dad, Sonny’s, epic sweet tooth. Nope. Not for chocolate. His preferred Easter treats were those sickening “peeps”. It’s been a year, but I still remember laughing as I wrote about his taste for crappy candy.
When Lisa stayed with us recently for Easter weekend, we had a blast. She got teary a time or two, remembering tense scenes from the past with Sue, but Lisa’s inner child is always near. Which brings me to the story I want to share. What occurred AFTER Easter this year.
Our dad may have loved ‘peeps’ but not Lisa. She’s a big-time fan of Reese’s peanut butter eggs. Sure, her basket can be filled with a peep or two (mostly symbolic, decorative – in memory of our dad) but Lisa’s always more interested in her Jelly Bellys, foil-wrapped chocolates and Reese’s eggs.
This Easter, Lisa oohed and aahhed at the sight of her basket, especially the overflowing number of Reese’s eggs she saw, which prompted her to offer a preemptive promise that she wouldn’t eat “all of them” when she returned home. A foreshadowing…Lisa style. A preadmission to guilt?
Given the disordered eating in our family, Lisa understands, in her own way, the dark side of binging and the tummy aches which follow. For Lisa, though, the guilt associated with of overeating is more problematic. Our mom, Sue, food shamed Lisa for years, plying her with treats and then chiding her for being a glutton. It was a vicious, destructive cycle. Sue died nearly nine years ago but she lives on as an overbearing echo in Lisa’s head when it comes to food.
The Monday after Easter at 6pm, like clockwork, Lisa called to give me the recap, the rundown of her day. I’ve said this before. Lisa’s nightly calls are shockingly similar, except for the variations in what she ate that day. That, too, is a holdover from our days with Sue when Lisa needed to ‘report in’ about food – especially after Lisa was out of Sue’s sight and living in her group home.
Night #1: Monday: “Hi, Vicki – how are you and Paul? I had another great day! We had scrambled eggs with bacon for breakfast and I ate the fruit! For lunch I packed a HUGE cheese sandwich with extra tomatoes, no chips. I had a fruit cup, too! For dinner we just had meatloaf and peas and for dessert we had cookies. All the ladies say hi. How’s Delaney? Did you eat dinner yet? How are the cats?”
Looking back, I know my Spidey-sense was engaged with the embellishments: a “huge” cheese sandwich – with tomatoes – which Lisa hates. And she ate a fruit cup, too? But I let it go, attributing the extra ‘oomph’ and animation to excitement, overall, about having a good day.
I don’t typically interrupt Lisa’s nightly monologue. She’s got her script and all she needs from me are some “yum”, “wow”, “good, good” utterances to keep her going and let her know that I’m listening. When she gets toward the end of our call and asks about her niece Delaney, her cats and what we’re having for dinner, I typically say:
“We’re all great and the cats are fine. Paul and I are making dinner (and I share what we’re eating) to which Lisa says, “good, good” and “oh yum” unless I tell her we’re having anything with beans and in that case, she giggles and says, Oh, musical fruit!”.
Our conversations aren’t lengthy, but they always end with reminders about what’s on TV that night. Lisa can give the best rundown – faster than flipping through channels, streaming or otherwise. She knows Paul likes the “cops and robbers” shows, so if there’s anything with alphabet soup on that night…your NCIS this and that or CSI whatever, Lisa knows the deets.
But that Monday night…and the three nights which followed? I experienced a little “CSI Lisa”: The case of the purloined peanut butter eggs.
Night #2: Tuesday: “Oh, Vicki – nothing’s wrong or anything, but you won’t believe what happened! My Easter basket disappeared in my closet. With the candy. I don’t know where it went!”
Me: “Gosh, really?! Did you ask one of the ladies or your staff to help you look?” (Lisa’s closet isn’t very big and while it’s always messy, I couldn’t imagine how an entire Easter basket could disappear.)
Lisa: “Oh, it’s okay. I’ll find it tomorrow I’m sure.” End scene.
Wednesday rolls around and I hear Lisa’s spirited rendition of what she ate that day, a little gossip about her roommates (two of the ladies got into a tiff about whose turn it was to ride shotgun in the van on the way to their day program). And then…
Night #3: Wednesday: “Oh, about my missing Easter basket. Nothing’s wrong, but we found it. It was in my closet all along, but you know what’s crazy? It was empty…well, except for the grass stuff and the peeps.”
Me: “Wow – that IS crazy. Maybe all of your Reese’s eggs fell out? Did you look on the floor?”
Lisa: “We did, we did. They’re gone. All gone. But I bet I’ll find them, maybe mixed in with my socks. They’re small, you know. Did you hear that on the news? Reese’s eggs are smaller this year! Those Hershey’s people are sneaky – giving us smaller sizes of our favorite candies. It was all over the news. I saw it.”
Me…smiling to myself: “Gosh, no. I didn’t know that.”
Lisa: “Yesssss – and when I talked to my friend Janey she said her mom told her she could eat two or three at a time because the company got chintzy and made them smaller!”
Me: “Oh, wow. Tell Janey and her mom I said hi and I hope you find your eggs before you attract ants or something in your closet. Keep looking!”
I knew full well what’s going on in Lisa’s brain. Despite her intellectual challenges, she was deep into her cloak and danger story line. One that would help her hide the fact that she ate all of her favorite candy in short order. Truth be told, no one would’ve ever known. Lisa’s residual guilt got the best of her, prompting a confession the next night.
Night #4: Thursday: “Hi, Vicki! Nothing’s wrong, but I don’t think I need to look for the candy in my closet anymore.”
Me: “Oh, okay – great. So you found it?”
Lisa: “Nope. Wellllll, yes. The day after Easter, I ate my candy instead of my lunch. I didn’t really eat my cheese sandwich. I ate all of my Reese’s and boy I didn’t feel good after. Should I tell staff now that it’s why I was in the bathroom a lot that day? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry I lied.”
I love Lisa. One way or another, she wanted to come clean about her Reese’s binge and I did my best to relieve her guilt, saying, “We all make bad choices sometimes. Thanks for telling me. It’s okay. Maybe just don’t do it again?“
Later I thought about my relationship with Lisa and how grateful I am to have her in my life, to remind me of what matters most. When we make mistakes and confess, hoping to lighten our burdens, the best response is usually the simplest. “It’s okay.” And in Lisa’s case, reassurances that she’s loved just the same gives her peace. No harm (other than a belly ache) and no foul. Loving lessons from Lisa.
Vicki (and Lisa) ❤
P.S. Lisa’s friend Janey and her mom weren’t wrong. Even the Washington Post knows. “Shrinkflation” related to candy (and loads of other consumer goods) is a legit economic concern: Shrinkflation comes to the candy aisle – The Washington Post: “A bag of dark chocolate Hershey’s Kisses is now a couple of ounces smaller than before. A two-pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups is a tenth of an ounce lighter.”
Check out this link for more content about my family and my book, “Surviving Sue” or this link for more posts about my amazing sister, Lisa.
Victoria Ponders 
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