"Got everything ready for Saturday," the voice came from the kitchen. Joan came walking down the hall carrying a fair sized box. It was filled with pictures and mementos and such.

"Almost. She thinks "he's' coming down for the weekend to get better acquainted with his new brother-in-law, which is true, in a manner of speaking." She giggled almost like a little girl, thinking of the plot she and her partner in crime had hatched. This was going to be the party of all parties, celebrating new freedom for the sibs, who had much to rejoice in after both had endured what some might call the "dark night of the soul"

"I for one am looking forward to meeting my sister-in-law," the voice once again said from the kitchen. A moment later, a fairly attractive brunette entered the living room carrying a tray with a pot of tea, and such. She placed it on the coffee table and walked over to Joan, who was just putting the box on the window seat by the front window. The two embraced, followed by a long, loving newlywed kiss, which might have seemed odd unless you knew the couple. Joan was a new bride, having been married only three weeks, two days, four hours, twelve minutes and God only knew how many seconds. She kissed her...bride, Marta, the love of her life, and the other half of her husband Marty, who was also the love of her life.

"Do you think they suspect anything?" Marta said as she nibbled on Joan's ear. The two of them playfully referred to Dave as the "two of them," as Joan had just discovered a few weeks prior to the wedding that her brother had a femme side to him. This was not a pleasant discovery, but not because of the discovery itself, but because it had come out in the midst of both siblings recalling within months that they both had been molested by a since-deceased evil excuse of an uncle. The two both had subsequently talked to their own counselors and Joan and Dave and Karen, Dave's alter-ego had worked through some of the guilt and shame with Dave's therapist Bonnie. Both still were in therapy...not something that goes away merely by revelation. There would be much more work for both of them to do, as individuals and as siblings.

"Is Rachael available on Tuesday?" (Rachael being their counselor) Marta asked, as she sat down on the couch. She patted the seat next to her, and Joan sat down.

"Yes," she said as she picked up her cup of tea. "She had a cancellation, and we'll all meet with her Tuesday afternoon...she's blocked out two hours for us, and that will help, since I don't think an hour is enough.

"I agree." Marta said as she sipped her own tea. "But for now, let's just keep this weekend as fun as possible. I'm looking forward to giving Karen the best day she's ever had, and I'm sure you are, too."

"I know...but..." Joan looked away. She started to mist up, which would seem odd if you were planning a party for your favorite sibling.

"I know...you're worried about how she's going to react...it is a big step for her. But we won't be having anything more than a regular...well, even if we don't get to follow through with our plans, it will still be an "unbirthday," won't it?" Marta leaned over and kissed her wife on the cheek, right next to her right eye, her lips brushed Joan's eyelashes and she tasted the salt from Joan's tears. Odd to think, but it was one of Marta's favorite things to do. She loved Joan so much, and it was almost as tender a thing that anyone can do, almost divine, to kiss away someone's tears.

"If after we tell her what we want to do, and it's just Dave we're celebrating, then so be it. But we have to at least give Karen the opportunity to say yes, don't you think?" Marta continued to focus attention on her wife's face, which was still tear-stained. Joan wanted this weekend to be special; a welcome home party for her brother and a coming out party of sorts for her newly discovered sister.

"I'm still afraid that Karen is going to feel like she can't stay." Joan wasn't thinking about Karen's visit. She was worried, along with her brother, that since the secret of the abuse was out, Karen's role as "protector/gate keeper" to the horrible memories Dave had understandably but unknowingly harbored...that role was no longer necessary, and he had said more than several times that he was sad that Karen would just "go away." A thought not uncommon in situations as his.

"You're really are convinced that Karen is more than just a protector....After talking with Dave, I have the same sense. You told me what a different relationship you had with Dave even before the abuse started, being closer than most brothers and sisters. And didn't you say Dave always felt....that you felt he was almost as much like a sister to you?"

"It's funny...we both have a hard time remembering a lot of things for those years." Those years being the summers they spent at their grandmother's house where the abuse took place.

"I can remember little things...like when I was six and he was eight, and he would always stop by just before he went out to play with his friends. He would sit down at my tea table and pretend to have a cup of tea with me." She smiled, as if the moment were just minutes before.

"She didn’t have a name back then....I think that's one thing for sure I'm going to ask...Why Karen...Karen Anne,” She smiled again and cocked her head, as if she was looking for the answer that Dave might give when they talked next.

"But it was like "she" wanted to enjoy a time with me before "he" went out to play...does that make sense?"

"The question or her act?" Marta teased before answering. "It makes perfect sense since that's what happened. Honey...Dave...Karen may never know why she did that, but she did. And Dave was a part of that, since he was there also, obviously. Something inside her wanted to be a sister to you, so the real question is, does Karen want to be your sister still. And Dave wants to know if she can be....All we can do is support them as they decide for themselves what's best and what comes next'

"I want her to stay...oh God it sounds so strange. I never knew that part of my brother, but now that I'm beginning to know Karen, I don't want her to leave, either."

"Then the best thing we can do is give her an opportunity to be who she is this weekend. Maybe that will help her make up her mind what to do next. As much as I agree with you, it really isn't up to us, so no worries, okay?" Marta looked at Joan, who had begun to cry again.

"No worries, sweetheart. If it's to be, then Karen and Dave and God will figure that out in time. We just have to have patience and give her time. And the best party she ever had, okay?" She kissed Joan on the cheek again.

"I know....give it to God...okay." She smiled through her tears before adding, "Promise me one thing...."

"For you...anything I have in me to give is yours, of course."

"That we pray that Karen will be as happy as we are?"

"Now that's a promise I can keep." Marta smiled and kissed her wife once again, but not on the cheek this time, but lovingly and fully on the lips, as only newlyweds...okay as only all lovers can do."

Dave had hardly had a chance to put his bag down when Joan pulled him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table.

"Wait just a second....I'm still not sure about this,” he argued, but with an almost half smile that seemed to concede control to his sister even while his words protested her plans.

"You promised to try...if you don't like it, you can always change back. The party isn't for another four hours, so we've got plenty of time to try this out."

Marta came into the kitchen carrying a small case and sat it down on the table. Her presence was somewhat disconcerting to Dave, who had expected his brother-in-law Marty to welcome him. It really made no sense at all to ease into the plans, so Marta was really needed more so than Marty at this point.

"Now I'm going to leave you two alone and go to the store for some groceries and other stuff." She smiled and kissed Marta before kissing Dave's forehead.
"We've got plenty of time, but I want to see someone else sitting in that chair when I get back, so no dawdling” She waved goodbye quickly and walked out to the garage.

"I'm not so sure about this? Do I have to?" Dave's voice seemed to soften, but it was still his voice and not Karen's that continued. "This is weird."

"I know it is, but I think you know it's something you at least need to try...to see if it's what you want." Marta smiled and did something that surprised Dave.

Leaning over, Marta kissed Dave on the cheek. It felt odd, but Dave realized almost immediately it was not odd but a good and altogether encouraging moment as Marta demonstrated a support for her new "sister-in-law."

"Okay....Karen, honey...let's get started."

Joan walked into the kitchen with a few bags of groceries, saying,

"There are a few more bags in the car; can you two give me a hand?" She looked up after placing the bags on the floor next to the table. Sitting down, drinking tea was Marta, her lovely bride of three-plus weeks, and a very sweet looking blond who bore a striking resemblance to her brother, and yet...

"Hi..." the woman said softly. She was sitting almost demurely, drinking tea with Marta, as if they were old friends enjoying a nice visit. She wore a simple burgundy silk blouse with a matching bandanna around a graceful neck. Had she stood up, Joan would have noted the cream colored silk pants and open sandals. Her face was adorned simply, with a bit of mascara and eye shadow, along with a nice deep burgundy lip gloss. Her hair was short, but nicely styled, and revealed Onyx clip-on earrings. Joan looked away, as if to make sure her vision wasn't playing tricks, and turned again. A moment of joyful recognition immediately followed with Joan bursting into tears.

Marta reached over and grabbed Joan’s hand and said, more Marty like than Marta,

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Joan choked back her sobs, which were entirely joyful and wonderful, but still was unable to speak. She looked at the woman sitting at the table and her eyes sparkled through joyful tears, her smile seeming to ask, “Is this...do you..." Even her thoughts found little coherence as her excitement and wonder took her.

"Yes,” the woman said, her own tears beginning to play havoc with Marta's handiwork as her mascara began to run.

"I think I'm here to stay…and it’s Karen Anne because I just liked the name.”

As awkward as it promised to be, Karen was determined to follow through with her promise to try this out all the way. She was going to meet some of the folks that were friends with her sister and "sibling"-in-law. The party was in full swing, and Karen had already met a nice couple from across the courtyard at the complex. Charlie and Beth were nearly newlyweds themselves, having been together for several years, but recently had a commitment ceremony. Charlie, some may remember, was the daughter of Michelle and her step-mom Diane. Beth was her long-time lover and new bride, a post-op girl for those who might want clarification, but a beautiful young lady with a heart bigger than the State of Wisconsin, as some might say for those who require no clarification.

Karen was standing in the kitchen with Charlie and Joan when Beth walked in accompanied by a lovely woman about Karen's age. Her face was round and adorned by one of the sweetest biggest smiles you'd ever want to see. Her hair was long and straight and Jet-black, and her expression was exotic, owing to her classic Asian features. Karen became uncomfortable as her face betrayed her embarrassment. She immediately recognized the woman, even if the context were out of place and far away by almost 250 miles. She was prepared to excuse herself quickly until Beth spoke

"I wanted to introduce my step-sister Nancy Ling. She's visiting from the Philly area, and I didn't want to leave her home while I came to a great night out"

Beth swung her hand out in a broad gesture and said, "You know Charlie of course. And you met Marta outside when you arrived. This is Marta's wife Joan, and I'd like you to meet...

"Karen...Karen Atkins, isn't it. Oh, Karen and I already know each other. Small world isn't it. We both work together in Philly, isn't that right?" It would almost have seemed a huge setup for embarrassment and shame for Karen, meeting a co-worker dressed not as Dave, but as his "sister," until Nancy said,

"I'm so glad I met a friend down here. You know I love you Beth, but you also know I don't make friends easily, so to find someone I actually know and like, what a nice surprise." She walked over to Karen and placed her hand gently on Karen's arm and smiled. If you don't mind, I think I've got some catching up to do with my friend here; will you excuse us for a moment?

"I....I don't know what to say.....I'm....."

"It's okay, Dave....Karen....really." She smiled at her once again. "You've got nothing to fear from me."

This was all too much for both Dave and Karen, and "they" stared to mist up, mostly over embarrassment, but the shame she had endured and had thought had been conquered began to surface. Fear actually felt like it was gripping her heart until Nancy touched her arm once again. She reached up and put her hand gently around Karen’s neck and pulled her closer, she softly, warmly and with a smile kissed her on the cheek.

"Karen...It's okay. My stepbrother...sorry...step-sister is transgender. Why wouldn't it be okay. We've worked together for three years. You have been such a help to me, encouraging me, supporting me since I started working in the department. You are such a nice person, and I'm glad to know you. Don't worry; you have nothing to fear from me. Quite the contrary...this changes everything." She smiled once again and pulled Karen closer. She kissed her again, this time on the lips, and not quickly either.

"But...." was all Karen could get out before Nancy shushed her with a finger to her lips.

"It's more than just okay...do you understand?" She smiled playfully and looked Karen straight in the eyes.

"You have been so kind and caring, and I have to confess I've been falling for you for some time....We never see each other than work, and there's never been an opportunity...Beth told me that Joan's brother was going to be visiting, and I knew you had a sister Joan in Virginia Beach. When I saw you standing in the kitchen with Charlie and your sister, I knew it was you even before Beth said anything. I'm not promising anything, but this does change everything and nothing at the same time, do you understand."

"You know nothing about me...my past...who I am...what I am..." Karen started to protest, but it was with Dave's voice.

"And that's why people date...silly." She giggled, her eyes twinkling and a small scar over her lip made itself known with her adorable smile.

"I tell you what...since you've already shared a secret with me,” she said as she used her hand in a broad gesture to indicate...Karen.

"I'll share a secret with you. That way, we'll be even, and we can start on equal ground okay?

"Okay..." Karen said uneasily.

"Come closer....let me whisper this so no one else hears," she said playfully. They were standing alone on the back deck, and the door was closed, so no one would have heard anyway.

"The secret is.....now don't be too surprised....I....am.....Chinese." Karen had leaned "too" close, and Nancy pulled her quickly to her and kissed her again.

Not since Dave's wife Lauren had died, and actually for the first time in both their lives, Karen and Dave felt...close to someone. A first kiss for both of them, and they both enjoyed it and they both kissed back. And Nancy embraced and hugged and kissed them both, so to speak. Something unexpected, something quite nice and delightful. It was turning out to be a very merry unbirthday....indeed."

THE UNBIRTHDAY SONG
From the Walt Disney film "Alice In Wonderland" (1951)
(Mack David / Al Hoffman / Jerry Livingston)

A nice ending to a not so nice story. Thank God for imagination; clever and sweet and perhaps somewhat whimsical. If only life were as kind and wonderful. This story is important for a variety of reasons.

First, I would like to think it provides hope and encouragement. Dave and Joan (and Karen) certainly are atypical characters in the realm we like to call home here. We love fanciful stories and wonderful tales, since they provide us, not only with entertainment and fun, but give us a sense of wonder and hope that things don’t always have to be bad or discouraging. We love the stories that provide the hero(ine)s with the change they desire. We grow fascinated with the tales that provide change to the hero(ine) even when he/she was not expecting it or really wanted to change deep down inside. God bless Heather and Angharad and Saless and Erin and all the other authors whose adventures bless us with joy and magical fun.

We love the stories that show us girls who find themselves in awkward circumstances, but overcome with resourcefulness and bravery, daring to be different and be themselves even when discouraged; Thank you Susan and Lilith and Topsy and Joanne and Jill. We marvel at the adventure from a story of intrigue by Nancy or a clever turn wit by Angela or Laika

But we cringe at stories like this, even as we may be drawn to them. Because they hurt …bad…so painful and wrenching because they remind us that not all endings are happy, and not all boys get to be girls, and not all girls get to be safe. Room for all in this wonderful place we call home, there’s room; sadly I should say, for this tale.

But this story is important for one other reason. It is true, apart from the ending, which is entirely made up and fun and hopeful and romantic, which I know many of us like. But that part never happened. The rest of the story did, however, and that’s what I want to touch on only briefly.

I am "Dave" in the story, though that's not my real name. Not nearly as pretty as any of the pictures I display. A few close friends have seen my picture from when I was in middle school. I’d like to have you remember me as Andrea or ‘drea, since that is who I am here, and she’s just as much a part of me, even if she doesn’t get out nearly as often if at all as he does. But this is her story in a way, as well

When I was about six or seven years old, my parents would visit another city to show Persian Cats. A hobby of theirs as well as a small source of income when they sold a cat or provided it for breeding. Each summer for about three years, my sister Joann, who was eight or nine, and I would be left in the care of my grandmother.

She lived in an apartment not too far from where we lived. My older brother was old enough to stay at home as a teen, and my younger brother was too young to stay with my grandmother, and stayed with another relative. That left Joann and me with my grandmother, my unmarried aunt and my unmarried uncle.

The horror portrayed in the story above happened in much more unspeakable detail than I could ever inflict on my reader; my uncle molested both my sister and me. Joann was also a victim of sexual abuse later when she was in middle school, and twice tried to end her life, unsuccessfully thank God. She grew up damaged and insecure, and while she sought help, she never really recovered from the abuse until she found a therapist not only willing to listen, but able to ask the right questions and provide the right answers and support for her only after decades of shame and guilt.

I never knew how badly things were for her or myself until recently. As a result of some other treatment I have been receiving for my tremors, my memory center was jogged, as my doctor and my counselor both identified, and I started having flashbacks so vile and vivid as to cause physical pain and illness. The incident I described about the sensation of being slammed against a wall is real; my wife discovered an old scar at the back of my head that we never knew existed. Physical memories of acts I never before remembered "performing" became so invasive as to cause me to be ill. I am not being graphic but even the allusion to what happened is disgusting enough to want to end this here.

I suffer, as so many of us here have reported, from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Every symptom described in the texts and manuals have been a part of my life for decades, but it’s only now that I have something to point to in order to understand what happened.

My sister passed away in 2004, only months after she was finally able to get adequate help for herself. Conversations recently with her widowed husband confirm exactly what I described in the story. Tragic, I suppose, perhaps even unfair in some eyes, but she was free and happy at the time of her death. I miss her to this day; when I am sad and my depression overtakes me and my wife cannot find the words to accompany her wonderful hugs, I often lapse quickly into,

“I think I’ll call Joann, she might be able to help…” only to remember that she isn’t taking any phone calls these days, preferring I suppose to talk to her creator instead.

I have a great counselor, and I am in the best of hands. My neurologist practices in the best hospital for my ailment in the world, so I am well-taken care of. It has been my desire from start to finish for this story to encourage those of us who have been through this that there is hope in the midst of this vile storm. That help is available. At the bottom of the page, I have included the links to two of several helpful websites that explain both PTSD and dynamics of being a victim of sexual abuse. I hope you will take advantage of these resources, if you do have a history of either or both of these issues. And perhaps if you don’t, you might know someone dear to you who has dealt with these, and would benefit from them.

http://www.kalimunro.com/article_survivor_memories.html

http://helpguide.org/mental/post_traumatic_stress_disorder_s...

Finally, a few final words:

First and last; my story is dedicated to the memory of my sister Joann (June 15, 1949 — February 4, 2004), my closest friend and ally growing up and an irreplaceable part of my heart.

I would like to thank my friends here, of whom I have many…increasing in number and too many to name…every day as I have and continue to receive compassion and care. Thank you so very much for your support, your care, and your love.

Finally and not in the least, I also dedicate this story, Three Sisters, to three special sisters, of whom this story refers. Marta and Joan and Karen are three sisters of a sort, and are very special characters as they helped me tell my story. But the three sisters I speak of are the ones who helped me and continue to help me, along with my wife and son and family and you dear ones, to live my story.

In no particular order —

To the one girl who is a True Image of friendship, encouraging, supporting; laughing, crying and such. You are such a girl!

To the girl who is like a daughter to me and yet like a teacher she is also, kind, compassionate, caring, and not seeking anything for her own sake. A Pearl of a girl and a blessing seven times over.

And to the girl who is like a daughter as well, the heart of my heart, as if God has blessed me with another daughter I never had; like an emerald; the symbol of love, youth and rebirth. Mo stá³irá­n